


The Protean Legacy

by felineranger



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Canon Divergent, M/M, Will be L/R in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-04-29 02:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: A chance encounter at a GELF market could reveal a secret about Lister’s past that would change the crew’s lives forever.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ouch!”  
“I’m sorry, Sir, this is the last vial. We’ll be done soon.”  
“This isn’t fair, y’know.”  
“So you keep saying,” Rimmer replied, “But there’s not much we can do about it.”  
“It’s all very well for you to stand there smirking. It’s alright for you, isn’t it?”  
“It’s hardly my fault I’m no longer organic.”  
“Like you’d be volunteering to offer up a vein even if you were. You’d still find a way to weasel out of it.”  
“Well, I don’t like needles. Or blood. And I certainly don’t like bleeding.”  
“I’m not exactly having a ball over here!”  
“Look, being a hologram has plenty of cons. Today it gets to be a pro, and I’m going to enjoy it. Besides, I’m not really the person you should be annoyed with. He’s the reason you’re bleeding for two.”  
“I _am_ annoyed with him.” Lister turned to scowl at Cat, who was too busy grooming his eyebrows in a hand mirror to pay any attention.  
“You really think I’m gonna let anyone stick a needle in me?” he replied without looking around, “You think I’m going to give up _my_ precious bodily fluids?”  
“I ought to punch you in the face,” Lister grumbled, “See how you like those precious bodily fluids squirting out your nose.”  
“Don’t even think about it, buddy,” Cat still didn’t bother facing him, “This jacket is silk. You get bloodstains on it, that needle will be the least of your problems.”

“Now, now. There’s no need for this squabbling. We’re all done.” Kryten pressed a cotton ball to the pin prick in Lister’s inner elbow and got him to hold it while he stored the full vial away with the rest in a medi-case. Rimmer turned slightly green as he walked past with it. “Don’t start,” Lister warned him moodily. “I’m the one sat here like a vampire’s leftovers. If anyone gets to faint, it’s me.”  
“Are you feeling okay, Sir?” Kryten asked, concerned.  
“Yeah, I’m alright. But my arm hurts.”  
“It’ll be sore for a few hours, and you might have a little bruise, but otherwise no harm done.” Kryten patted his shoulder soothingly.  
“Oh my god,” Rimmer rolled his eyes, “Just give him the juice and the cookie. It’ll shut him up.”  
“Smeg off,” Lister snapped. Then after a moment’s consideration he turned puppy-dog eyes on Kryten. “Although I would like a cookie, please.”  
“You shall have _two_ cookies, Sir, for being so brave,” Kryten told him and went to retrieve them from the kitchenette cupboard. Rimmer and Cat, in a rare moment of fellow feeling, shared a look and rolled their eyes.

“This had better be worth it,” Lister continued to complain, rolling down his sleeve.  
“I’m sure it will be, Sir. We only need a very simple pump, I’m sure there will plenty of suitable ones to choose from in the GELF market.”  
“If you’re not that bothered about the prospect of Starbug’s sewage system backing up, you should have just said so,” Rimmer chipped in. “We’re all too aware that, for you, the prospect of wallowing in your own filth holds no fear.”  
Lister glared at him, “I’m starting to think it would be worth it, just to dunk you in headfirst.”  
“Maybe you monkeys are happy to sit around throwing faeces at each other, but I for one am not in love with the idea,” Cat interjected with an expression of disgust. “We felines like to keep it clean.”  
“Look, I’m not saying I don’t want to fix the sewage system, okay?” Lister stressed, “I just don’t see why we need to pay for it in blood. Specifically _my_ blood.”  
“Unfortunately, Kerillon 6 is the nearest populated area and blood is their currency of choice.”  
“Brilliant. The pump couldn’t have gone wrong three months ago when we were travelling through that belt where sperm was the most valuable thing you could trade.”  
“We could head back there!” Cat suggested cheerfully. “I’d be happy to contribute as many bodily fluids as you want for that cause!”  
“I don’t believe the sewage system will hold out that long, Sir, but thank you for your generosity.”

“What do they want it for anyway?” Lister asked sulkily, taking his cookies from Kryten, “What good is it to a bunch of GELF’s?”  
“I believe they extract the trace minerals from it.”  
“Minerals?”  
“Yes, all blood contains traces of different mineral elements. Iron, obviously, but also sodium, magnesium, zinc and so on.”  
“Well, Listy’s blood is probably worth a fortune. It must be rich in exotic spices. There’s probably so much chilli in it they could use it as rocket fuel,” Rimmer commented.  
“All joking aside, Sir, Mr Lister’s blood is a highly valuable commodity here. It’s not only far richer in minerals than GELF blood, but it is exceptionally rare. Humans are not a plentiful resource these days. We should exercise caution.”

“Hang on a minute,” Lister looked alarmed. “Are you telling me you want us to go strolling through a GELF market where my blood is the most valuable substance within a light years’ radius???”  
“I don’t think there’s any need to panic, Mister Lister. They wouldn’t kill you. After all, you don’t cook a goose that lays golden eggs. They’d probably just keep you captive and bleed you regularly.”  
“That’s very reassuring, Kryten. Cheers.”  
“Don’t be such a big baby,” Rimmer said, “You’ll have all of us with you. We’ll take the bazookoids. It will be fine.”  
“Why can’t I just stay here?”  
“Because we might see something else we want. It would be sensible to carry our chequebook,” Rimmer smiled smarmily.

  
The market was a sprawling mass of wobbly trestle tables and hastily pitched teepees in a dusty grey quarry. Most of the traders seemed to be selling salvage and scrap metal, but a few more colourful stands displayed fruits, vegetables, jewellery and cloth.

Kryten found a suitable pump on a stall run by two GELF’s with hippo-like heads, probably father and child. “How much?” he asked them in common Sakken dialect.  
“What are you trading?”  
“Blood. Human blood.” Kryten placed the medi-case on the table and drew out a single vial.  
The younger GELF’s eyes widened but its father snorted derisively, “A likely story. It’s probably cheap Dolochimp.” Kryten glanced over his shoulder and beckoned to the rest of the crew, who were hovering nearby, trying and failing to look inconspicuous. They gathered around. The trader pointed at Lister and raised an eyebrow. Kryten nodded. The trader still looked unconvinced. He spoke rapidly to Kryten and started rummaging under the table. “What’s he saying?” Lister asked nervously.  
“He wants us to prove it, Sir.”  
“How?”  
The GELF pulled a machine out from a box under the table and set it down. “Give me the vial.” Kryten handed it to him warily. “My machine will test the source and value of your blood. If it’s genuine, you can have the pump for two vials.”

Kryten quickly translated for the rest of the crew. “Only two vials?” Lister protested, “Then why’d you take six?”  
“I didn’t know what the going rate would be, Sir, and I thought it more prudent to draw it while we were in fairly sanitary conditions. You wouldn’t have wanted to do it here if he’d asked for three, would you?”  
“No, but still...”  
The GELF placed a single drop of blood onto a round absorbent black pad attached to the machine and the display turned blue as it processed. After roughly a minute, it pinged and printed out a small receipt-sized report. The trader glanced at it, blinked in surprise, then shrugged. “Very well. Two vials and the pump is yours.”

Suddenly the child, who had been peering over his shoulder at the results, gave a gasp. It tugged at its father’s arm and started chattering excitedly. “What’s all the fuss about?” Rimmer asked guardedly.  
“I’m not sure, Sir. The young one appears to be excited about Mr Lister’s particular DNA strands for some reason.”  
The older GELF looked at his child with bafflement as it continued to yap. Slowly his expression morphed from confused irritation to something more like doubtful curiosity. He pointed again at Lister. “This is his blood?”  
“It is.”  
“Prove it.”  
“How?”  
“Pinprick. That’s all.”  
“He’d like to take a pinprick of your blood, Mister Lister.”  
“Why?”  
“I’m not sure. Authenticity, I suppose.”  
“But the machine already confirmed it’s human blood. Do I not look human enough or something?”  
“Can’t blame the guy for having doubts.” Cat remarked.  
“I think we should go along with it, Sir. We’re starting to attract attention. It would be best to complete the transaction and move along.”  
“But...”  
“Listy, unless you want the sleeping quarters to become a literal shitshow in the next few days then we need that pump. Get on with it.” Rimmer pressed.  
“Okay, fine! But I get another cookie once we get back.” Lister held out his hand and the GELF quickly jabbed the pad of his middle finger with a small pin. “Ow!”  
“Hmmm. A cookie and a tetanus shot, I think,” Kryten said, with a dubious look at the pin.  
“I hate this place.” Lister popped the wounded finger into his mouth, “We are never shopping here again.”

Once more, the GELF ran Lister’s blood through the machine and father and child scoured the results. Again, the little one started to yap with excitement, but this time the father quickly hushed it, looking around nervously. “If you please, I think it would be wise for you gentlemen to step inside my tent.”  
“Is there a problem?” Kryten asked.  
“No. No problem. But we cannot speak freely out here.”  
Kryten turned to the others, “He wants us to go into his tent.”  
“Why?” Cat asked suspiciously.  
“I’m not sure. He says we can’t talk out here.”  
“I don’t like it,” Rimmer pulled a face. “Smells like a trap to me.”  
Kryten looked thoughtfully at the two GELF’s. Their faces were nervous but earnest. “I don’t think they mean us any harm, Mister Rimmer. And we do still have the bazookoids if there’s trouble.”  
Lister looked back at the small GELF who was gazing at him in apparent awe. “Let’s go in,” he agreed. “I get the feeling there’s a story here and I wanna know what it is.”  
“Alright. But if you end up being the blood bank for these two then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

They ducked inside the small tent and huddled around. The GELF’s joined them. The father spoke up. “This blood. It is...rare. Even for a human.”  
“Do you see much human blood?” Kryten enquired, surprised.  
“Not much. But some. My cub thinks your friend is someone very important.”  
“Why?”  
“The DNA code. There are people searching for it.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“People are looking for your friend. Or for anyone of his blood.”  
“How do you know this?”  
“We trade in blood, metal man; those who are searching know this. Who better than us to search for them? They have put the word out amongst those like us to look for this sequence. Most of us have not taken it very seriously, the chances of coming across a code so specific are tiny.”  
“What do they want it for?”  
“I don’t know. But there is a big reward.”

Kryten was immediately on guard, “Who is looking? Simulants? GELF’s?”  
“People. Like him.” The GELF gestured at Lister.  
“Humans? You have seen them?”  
“Only twice in my lifetime. They do not come here often.”  
“Kryten?” Lister enquired nervously.  
“He says there are other humans out there,” Kryten translated cautiously.  
“Are you serious?”  
“He says they are searching for blood like yours.”  
“You mean searching for other humans?”  
“No. He says the DNA code in your blood is specifically what they’re looking for. Apparently it is very rare.”  
“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Rimmer demanded.

Kryten turned back to the stall-holder. “What do you know of these humans?”  
The GELF shrugged, “They are humans. They are rich.”  
“Are they good or bad?”  
“They have never caused us trouble here.”  
“What is the reward?”  
“Ten gold pieces and twenty pints of human blood.” The GELF put a paw on its child’s shoulder. “A reward like that would change our lives. I could send my cub to school on Kerillon 8.”  
“I see. What do you want us to do?”  
“Just wait. Let us send word to the humans that we have found the blood they seek. Meet with them.”

Kryten relayed this to the crew. “It’s a set up,” Rimmer declared. “They’ll take the reward and sell us as slaves, or worse. I say we take our pump back to Starbug and get the hell out of here.”  
“What if he’s telling the truth?” Lister argued, “What if there really are other humans? What if I’m not the last?”  
“Then they’ll probably stick you in a museum or a zoo, or dissect you like a frog.”  
“Hey, we got firepower.” Cat patted his bazookoid, “And who knows, maybe there might be a little reward in this for us too.”  
“Thanks for your concern, man,” Lister told him sarcastically. He turned to Kryten. “Tell him we’ll wait and meet with the humans. But we’ll do it on our own turf. Back on Starbug. He can bring them to us when they arrive.”

As they ducked out of the tent and headed back to the ship, Kryten heard the GELF say sternly, “If you’re wrong about this, we’re going to look like fools.”  
“But father,” the cub replied, “you saw the report with your own eyes. Blood does not lie.”


	2. Chapter 2

Back on Starbug, Lister passed the time until their guests arrived by fixing the sewage pump. He was doing his best to stay calm, but he couldn’t help feeling jittery. Much as it would be a relief to no longer be the last of his species, Rimmer was right, they had no guarantee that whoever was coming was friendly. Even if everything the GELF trader had told them was true, the idea that he was somehow a marked man was unsettling. What was so special about him, his DNA, that these people were combing the outer reaches of the universe for a single drop of his blood?

Some hours later, the airlock monitor flared into life. As promised, the GELF stood outside. Standing respectfully behind him, was a semi-circle of humans. Kryten let them in and ushered them to the mid-section. The humans shared nervous glances when they saw the bazookoids. “Tell them not to be alarmed,” Lister said to Kryten, “These are just a precaution. We don’t know them.”  
“I understand,” the man at the head of the group spoke. “One cannot be too careful in situations such as these. But please know that we are unarmed, and mean you no harm.”  
“You speak our language,” Lister noted, surprised.  
“We do. We also speak many others, including some dialects of GELF.”  
“And you’re for real?” Lister asked, “You’re human?”  
“We are. And you, I assume, are the one who has brought us here.” He stepped forward.

Rimmer raised his bazookoid, “Not so fast. How do we know you’re real humans? How do we know you won’t turn into weird, toothy, brain-slurping, emotion-stealing horrors the moment we let our guard down?”  
“I believe our mutual friend has brought his Plasmatron 4000 with him,” the man turned to the GELF who cheerfully held up the machine they had seen earlier. He offered up his hand and a drop of his blood was quickly tested. The GELF passed the report to Kryten, who nodded. “Story checks out, Sirs.”  
Rimmer remained chilly, “Okay, so you’re human. But we still don’t know who you are or what you want with Lister’s blood.”  
“Perhaps we should all sit down and have a chat,” Kryten suggested diplomatically, “I’ll make some tea.”

They sat down around the mid-section table. “My name is Flaubèrt,” the man told them. “I am the Prime Minister of a small planet not far from here named Arkeon. The ladies and gentlemen accompanying me today are the most trusted members of my cabinet. Our planet is, to our knowledge, the last human enclave in the universe.”  
“How many of you are there?” Lister asked.  
“Approximately 250,000 human inhabitants. Another 75,000 non-human, give or take.”  
“Where did you all come from?”

Flaubèrt leaned forward eagerly, “Does the word ‘Proteus’ mean anything to you?”  
“As in the moon?” Flaubèrt nodded. “Not much. It was one of Neptune’s moons, I know that. It was destroyed in a civil war when I was a kid.”  
Flaubèrt did a double take, “You are partly right. Proteus was indeed destroyed by civil war; although you are somewhat confused with regards to the timing of the event. The moon was destroyed eons ago, back in the earliest days of the colonisation of Earth’s solar system.”  
“I know,” Lister remarked dryly, “I was there.”  
“I’m sorry. I am confused.”  
“I was born in the 22nd century,” Lister explained, “I’m only here today because of a very bizarre set of circumstances. To cut a long story short, I spent three million years in a stasis booth due to an accident on my ship.”  
“Three million years???”  
“Yep.”  
“Is that even possible?”  
“You’re looking at the proof.”  
“For what it’s worth, we can all vouch for Mr Lister’s story,” Kryten told them helpfully. “Mr Rimmer here perished in the very same accident he spoke of. Mr Cat’s entire species evolved while he was in stasis. If you were to examine my hard drive properties, you would see that I myself was created in the late 23rd century.”

The assembled humans murmured amongst each other. One of the cabinet members spoke up; “It would explain the strength of the DNA match,” she suggested nervously. There were further shocked murmurings amongst the gathered ministers. “If he was there at the beginning, one of the first, can it be possible that...?”  
Flaubèrt shook his head numbly, cutting her off, “Surely not. The chances of it...”  
“The chances of _any_ of us being here are infinitesimal, Henry. If what he says is true...”  
“Look, am I understanding this right?” Lister interrupted, confused. “You guys are descendants of the people who escaped Proteus before it went kaboom? And you think I’m one of you?”  
“Your DNA suggests so,” Flaubèrt confirmed cautiously.  
“But that moon got blown to pieces before I could even walk. I never went there. I was born and bred on Earth.”  
“How do you know? You haven’t got a clue who your real parents were,” Rimmer pointed out. “They could have been from anywhere.”  
“Well, yeah. I guess.”

The assembled Proteans shared strange glances. “Mister Lister,” Flaubèrt asked nervously, “how much do you know about what happened to Proteus?”  
“Like I said, not a lot. I was practically still a baby when it got totalled. You probably know more than me.”  
“We were taught legends. _You_ were taught history. Do you remember anything?”  
Lister shrugged apologetically, “School wasn’t really my strong suit, man.”  
“You utter pleb,” Rimmer said, disgusted, “Did you skive off every single history lesson of your academic career?”  
“My academic _career_? School isn’t a career, you git.”  
“For you it was something that happened to other people. Luckily, one of us took our studies seriously.”

Rimmer turned pompously to their guests. “Proteus was the most prestigious of Neptune’s moons and one of the most desirable addresses in the solar system. The place was unique in the colonies for having its own royal family.”  
“How is that possible?” Lister asked.  
“When the moon was terraformed, the developers wanted something that would set the place apart. At the time, Jupiter and its moons were considered the swankiest place to live off Earth. They decided the only way to compete was to give Proteus what nowhere else had; the clout of royal connections. They approached the various royal families of Earth, found a minor prince and a princess who were too far down the line of succession to ever get near the throne in their own countries, married them off and installed them on Proteus. It was hailed as a new dynasty for a new age.”  
“All for a marketing gimmick to sell some fancy houses?” Lister pulled a face.  
“It worked. At least, it did for a hundred years or so.”  
“And then the civil war kicked off?” Lister guessed correctly.  
“Humans,” Kryten patted his shoulder affectionately, “So predictable. If there’s a decent chair to squabble over, they’ll have at it. Call it a throne, and sooner or later you’ve got a war.”

“So what happened?” Lister asked curiously.  
“The king died suddenly, leaving behind his wife and their infant son. The queen wanted parliament to hold the throne in trust until the boy was of age. Even though the role was almost entirely ceremonial, the king’s younger brother - the Duke - insisted that it would leave a power vacuum that would weaken them as a nation, and felt he should take the crown. The queen accused him of murdering her husband to usurp the throne. In turn, he accused her of using her husband’s tragic death as a means to increase her own influence at the expense of the nation’s best interests,” Kryten explained.  
“Things turned nasty,” Rimmer elaborated. “Fighting broke out between the two factions. Eventually there wasn’t much of a moon, or a population, left to rule over. The story is that when the Duke finally realised that, he got his troops to set off an explosion to obliterate the whole place. If he couldn’t have it, then no-one could.”  
Flaubèrt nodded sadly, “And those who fled to escape the fighting resettled elsewhere in the solar system. Not all of those on our planet are Proteans, many have come to us from other places, but our society was founded by a group of survivors loyal to the queen. Those of us who sit before you now,” he gestured to his ministers, “are all descendants of those original refugees.”  
“And Lister’s DNA matches with yours?” Rimmer probed curiously, “He’s like a long-lost cousin or something?”  
“Not exactly. There were any number of different Protean families, different bloodlines, who found their way to our planet eventually. It would have been nearly impossible to keep track of them all, and frankly there was no need.” His eyes returned to Lister. “But there is one family, one important bloodline, that we did keep a record of. And in all the years we have searched, we have never found anyone who matched. Until now.”

A shocked hush fell over the room. Lister looked around from face to face. “What family?” he asked blankly.  
Rimmer, though pale and visibly shaken, was not quite dumbstruck. “The _royal_ family, you imbecilic baboon-brained half-wit.”  
“Nah. That’s not what he meant.” Lister turned to the Proteans who looked back at him poker-faced. “That’s _not_ what you meant, is it?”  
“Blood does not lie,” Flaubèrt replied simply.

Lister’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. This is _ridiculous_.”  
“He’s right,” Rimmer insisted, “None of the royal family survived the war. They were all killed when the moon exploded.”  
“That’s not necessarily true, Sir.” Kryten interjected. “It was assumed they were, but bodies were never recovered. It is possible they may have escaped the disaster.”  
“There is a legend among our people,” Flaubèrt said solemnly, “that when it became clear that war was inevitable, the queen sent the baby prince into hiding. Somewhere he would be safe from the fighting and from his uncle. Only her most trusted companions knew where the boy had been sequestered, but it was said that once it was safe she would give the signal for him to return home to his rightful place on the throne.”  
“I very much doubt she would have ‘sequestered’ the heir to the throne in a box under a pool table in Liverpool.” Rimmer wrinkled his nose sceptically.  
“How old were you when Proteus was destroyed?” Flaubèrt asked Lister.  
“I dunno. Two maybe, if that.”  
“The civil war did last for around two years, if I recall correctly,” Kryten added helpfully.  
“Did your true parents leave you anything?” Flaubèrt asked urgently. “Anything at all?”  
“Nope.” Lister shook his head. “Just a cardboard box and a badly spelt name. Mind you, I was just a baby. If there was anything valuable left with me it probably would’ve got swiped somewhere down the line.”

“Let me get this straight,” Cat finally piped up. “You people really think that gerbil-face here is your missing king?”  
“Perhaps.” Flaubèrt looked thoughtfully at Lister. “It is not beyond the realms of possibility that either the queen or the Duke escaped and went into hiding, or even that there was another sibling or child that history forgot. This was all a very, very long time ago.”  
“But if it _is_ him?” Cat asked excited, “Do we get something?” Lister and Rimmer both looked at him with disgust.  
Flaubèrt did not seem perturbed. “Yes. There is a reason we have spent all this time searching for a descendant of the crown. It’s because we are looking for someone to wear it again.”  
“What?!” Lister and Rimmer blurted out simultaneously  
“We will want to carry out some further genetic testing to be certain, but if it confirms what the blood tests suggest, then it is likely that our parliament will offer you the throne.”  
“But I don’t know how to rule a planet!” Lister flailed.  
“The role would still just be largely ceremonial.”  
“Then why bother?” Rimmer asked.  
“It would be good for morale. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that our universe can be a hostile place for humanity. The simulants seek to destroy us, as would any number of the GELF tribes. Others would happily trade us as rare slaves, or keep us simply to drain our valuable blood. We are constantly on guard, constantly under threat. Something to rally around, a living symbol of our nation, could make a huge difference to us.”

Lister massaged his face, “I need time to think about this. I need to get my head around it.”  
“That is very understandable.” Flaubèrt stood up and gestured to his ministers to follow him. “We will return to our ship for a while to give you some space; and to present our friend here with his reward for leading us to you.”  
“And then what?”  
“You decide if you will return to our planet with us.”  
“And if I say no?”  
“We cannot force you to do anything, nor would we wish to. But it would mean a great deal to us, and to our people, if you would at least consider it. Even if you only come out of curiosity, just to see our planet for yourself, wouldn’t it be nice to spend some time with your own kind again?”

Seeing the conflicting emotions in Lister’s face, Flaubèrt bowed away. “Take some time to discuss it with your companions. There is no hurry. The throne has sat empty for millions of years. A little longer will do no harm.” The other ministers bowed as they left, as did the GELF who hurried after them, no doubt eager for his reward.


	3. Chapter 3

Lister looked anxiously at the rest of the crew. “This has got to be a con, right?”  
“Of course it’s a con!” Rimmer trilled. “It’s about as believable as an internet dating profile!”  
“We know at least _some_ of it is true, Sir,” Kryten pointed out. “You yourself are familiar with the history.”  
“I can buy that these po-faced bastards are human,” Rimmer held up his hands, “I can maybe, just maybe, buy that their origins are from some ill-fated moon from our solar system and that they somehow ended up out here. Smeg happens. We know that all too well. But I refuse to believe that a man who brushes his teeth with flat lager has a single drop of royal blood in him.”  
“I only did that once!” Lister protested.  
“Well, forgive me, your highness.”  
“What’s in it for them to lie?” Lister drummed his fingers on the table pensively. “What do they have to gain?”  
“I suppose there could be all kinds of political reasons why a dummy monarch could be advantageous to certain parties.” Kryten suggested.  
“They’d have to go a long way to find a bigger dummy than you, bud,” Cat pointed out helpfully.  
Lister glared at him but let the comment slide. “If that was all they wanted they’ve got a whole planet full of people to choose from. Why me?”  
“An outsider would be easier to manipulate. No prior knowledge of the situation, no established loyalties.”  
“That’s true,” Rimmer agreed. “Maybe the whole ‘royal blood’ thing is a ruse and they’re just looking for any old human they can dupe.”

Lister mulled this over, “But the little GELF in the market...He only flipped out when he saw my DNA code.”  
“And the timeline does tie up very neatly,” Kryten mused. “They had no way of knowing your rather exceptional circumstances, Sir.”  
“Who cares?” Rimmer said irritably. “There were probably a thousand babies abandoned in the solar system that year. Let’s face it, even if you hadn’t been in stasis, even if you were only born thirty years ago and knew exactly who your parents were, they could have still used the same line to claim you’re a descendant of their long lost prince. You’re not actually starting to fall for this drivel, are you?”  
“I’m merely pointing out that it’s not impossible,” Kryten allowed.  
“Of course it’s impossible!  It’s _Lister_ , you gimp. The only way he’d have blue blood is from an excess of those disgusting fluorescent energy drinks. There’s no way in hell that he’s royalty.”  
“I’m not saying I believe it...” Lister said thoughtfully.  
“I mean,” Rimmer plowed on, “it’s practically Shakespearean in its absurdity. A bitter family feud, a prince disguised as a peasant, a wicked uncle, mistaken identities.” He gave Lister a suspicious look. “Next thing you know, it turns out Listy’s actually a girl dressed as a boy, Kryten’s playing a lute and we’re all wearing doublet and hose, singing ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’.”  
“I dunno. I think it sounds more like the origins of Superman,” Lister grinned. “Exceptional baby sent to Earth to escape the destruction of his home planet.”  
“You see what I mean? I reference the greatest bard our species ever produced, you reference vulgar comic books. You’ve not got an ounce of good breeding in you.”  
“Is that what’s really bugging you?” Lister looked amused. “The idea that I might socially outrank you?”  
“No! Because, as I have repeated several times now, there is no way that it’s remotely possible.”

Lister chewed on one of his locks. “Maybe it’s all a big mix-up, maybe it’s a hoax. I don’t know. But I do know that we haven’t come across other humans in a very long time. Whether I’m the guy they’re looking for or not, I want to see this place.”  
“Really? You’re going to go along with this?”  
“I’m not going along with anything yet, man, ok? But a genuine human colony out here...I can’t ignore that. It might not be Earth but maybe it’s the next best thing. Maybe it can still be a home.”  
“What do you think about this?” Rimmer asked Kryten indignantly.  
Kryten shrugged, “If you don't gosub a program loop, you'll never get a subroutine."  
“He’s right,” Cat agreed enthusiastically. “And if they _do_ put Dormouse-Cheeks in charge, then we all get castles!”  
“I very much doubt that it works like that, Cat,” Lister couldn’t help but smile.   
“But we get _some_ perks, right?”  
“We’ll have to see about that.” Lister stood up. “I’ll go tell them we’re happy to follow them back to their planet. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

  
Many hours later, after following the Arkeonian ship back through the belt, they came into the orbit of a small planet. “There she is, Sirs,” Kryten confirmed. “Breathable atmosphere, very adequate gravity, temperate climate. Very nice indeed. I can see why they chose to settle here.”  
“Let’s take a closer look, shall we? Cat, start taking her down, man.”

As they descended through the atmosphere, gradually the planet’s surface started to come into sharper view. It was largely green, but Lister saw that their guide ship was leading them towards what seemed to be the only large city within sight. A few high-rise buildings peppered the landscape, but only a handful. Most of the buildings appeared modest, with the exception of a large neo-classical structure in the centre of the city, surrounded by gardens.

They followed their guide down to a shuttleport just outside the city. Flaubèrt met them on the ground. “Welcome to Arkeon. My colleagues have gone ahead to report back to the rest of parliament. While they are explaining the situation, I thought we might take a more scenic route and give you a brief tour of Zenito, our capital city.” He summoned a small white drone taxi and they all climbed in. The drone zipped away neatly and climbed to a gentle height above the city.

“As you saw on your way here, Zenito is the main hub of our population. There are more rural areas scattered around, but this is where everything happens and where most of our employment is.” Flaubèrt explained.  
“Everything looks so clean, Sir,” Kryten remarked approvingly.  
“Our population is small for the size of our planet. The city is not over-crowded and all of our needs are easily met by solar power.”  
“The GELF who introduced us said you were rich,” Rimmer remarked, “But this place doesn’t look particularly fancy.”  
“He wasn’t wrong, there is a great deal of wealth in Arkeon,” Flaubèrt replied, “But it doesn’t sit in banks or big buildings. As I said, our population is small and we have plenty of natural resources. But our wealth, for the most part, is in our people. Our planet lies within a system where blood is a viable currency, and our blood is particularly valuable. No-one on Arkeon is truly poor; we all have money in our veins. Imagine a farmer finds that one year his crops have failed; in most societies it would be disastrous. Here, he simply sells a pint of his blood and he can support his family for a year.”

“So blood is the main currency here too?” Lister couldn’t help but pull a face.  
“Not amongst ourselves, no. Gold is our main means of trade here, although we have an informal barter system as well. But when all else fails, we have blood to fall back on. To the GELF’s it is more valuable than gold. Which is why we so frequently find ourselves under attack,” he added gravely.  
“How have you managed to survive?” Rimmer asked. “This place must be like El Dorado to them.”  
“We don’t have much strength in numbers, but we can afford excellent defences. There are early warning systems and defence shields around the planet. And we do our best to keep our location secret from outsiders. We don’t venture off-world regularly, and sometimes disguise ourselves as GELF’s when we do. But occasionally we have been detected and followed back here. We are always on guard.”

“What’s that?” Cat pointed to the big building in the centre of the capital.

“It’s our main government building. It’s where our parliament sits, and it houses our museum and library, as well as other areas for large public events. Like perhaps a coronation.” He gave Lister a small hopeful smile. “If you are who we think you are, and if you want it to be, it will also be your palace.”  
“Let’s not get carried away just yet, eh?” Lister smiled nervously.

The drone weaved its way towards the huge columned building and settled gently at the steps. Flaubèrt jumped out and gestured to them to follow him. “Come. I’m sure they’ll be ready for us now.”  
The crew followed him through the wide ornate halls and through a pair of large double doors, into a circular galleried room full of people. Lister gulped nervously as every pair of eyes in the room scrutinised him, and a susurrus of whispers shivered through the space. Flaubèrt stepped up to a lectern in the middle of the floor. “Esteemed members of this house, I trust you have been appraised of the situation?”  
An older lady, wearing a ceremonial blue velvet tunic, stood and nodded. “Correct.”  
“I present to you Mister David Lister.” He turned and beckoned Lister to him with an encouraging smile. “...Or perhaps, just possibly, His Royal Highness Prince Julius George Sebastian of Proteus.” Another wave of murmurs hummed through the chamber.  
Lister gave a small self-conscious wave and a nervous grin, “Hi.”

The lady in the tunic stared at him thoughtfully. “Do you really believe it’s possible, Flaubèrt?”  
“My lady Chamberlain, if you had asked me that when I left yesterday I would have categorically said no. But if his story is true, and the legend is true, then maybe a miracle has happened.”  
One of the ministers Lister recognised from the ship also stood up. “Whether he is or not,” she reminded the assembly, “his blood strongly suggests a link to the Protean royals. Even if he isn’t Prince Julius, he may still be a legitimate heir to the throne.”  
“Indeed,” the Chamberlain nodded. “Prime Minister, you have the authority of the assembly to proceed with further investigations. In the meantime, I hope Mr Lister and his companions will enjoy our hospitality. Assembly dismissed.”

“Oh,” Lister said surprised, as the ministers began to disperse. “Well, that didn’t take long.”  
“My ministers had time to do most of the explaining before we arrived. Until we know for certain who you are, there’s not much else to be said.”  
Lister looked down at himself, “I suppose I don’t look very princely.”  
“Hmmm,” Flaubèrt said mysteriously, “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.” He changed the subject with an excited smile. “And we’ll never know for certain if we don’t get these tests done. There is a government science centre not far from here. Let’s do the needful and then I’ll finish showing you around.”  
“Yeah, okay,” Lister followed him out. As he passed Rimmer, he saw him scowling ferociously. “What’s wrong with you?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Then why’ve you got a face like a slapped arse?”  
“I haven’t. I’m perfectly content, thank you. _Julius_.”

Lister grinned, “Ooh, this is driving you _spare_ , isn’t it?”  
“It is not driving me anything. I am utterly unfazed by this entire... _nonsense_. I just think it’s ridiculous, that’s all. You don’t even look like a Julius.”  
“What does a Julius look like?”  
“Dignified. Authoritative. Majestic.”  
“Hey, I can be all those things.”  
“You have all the majesty of an under-watered tomato plant.”  
“Well, I thought you conducted yourself very well, Sir,” Kryten said supportively.  
“Thanks Kryten,”  
“Just because he went two minutes without scratching himself in public, doesn’t mean he’s ready to lead a nation,” Rimmer griped.  
“Oh, calm down,” Lister said flippantly. “I’ll have the smegging tests, they’ll figure out this is all a big misunderstanding, and then we either head off back to Starbug or find ourselves a spot to settle down here. Okay? Unless of course...” he grinned wickedly, “...the tests come back positive.”  
“Which they won’t.”   
“And I become the king.”  
“Not gonna happen.”  
“And you have to be nice to me _for-ev-er_...” Lister sang teasingly.  
“ _Definitely_ not gonna happen, miladdo.”  
“That’s ‘your highness’ to you.”  
“Not yet it isn’t. And it’s not going to be either.”  
“In your own words, Sir, smeg happens.” Kryten reminded Rimmer cheerfully.   
“Whatever,” Rimmer snapped. “Let’s just get the genetic tests done.”  
“Why so keen suddenly?” Lister smirked.  
Rimmer leaned in close, “Because I suspect there’s a high chance needles will be involved,” he said through gritted teeth.   
Lister’s smirk vanished. “Cinderella just had to try on a smegging shoe,” he muttered resentfully as they followed Flaubèrt out.


	4. Chapter 4

After giving a cheek swab, a hair sample, a muscle biopsy, and yet more blood, Lister was not in the best of moods. As it would be at least twenty-four hours before the results came back, Flaubèrt tactfully suggested that he show them to the suite of rooms where they would be staying at the palace so that he could rest for a while.

“I’m afraid they aren’t quite as luxurious as you might imagine from what you’ve seen so far,” he admitted timidly, as the drone flew them back. “The upper levels of the building aren’t really used, unless perhaps members of staff are working late and need somewhere to sleep. The idea was that they would be renovated in the event of a monarch being found. But the rooms all have a basic bed and bathroom, and some lovely views over the gardens and parkland.”  
“Well, that all sounds very nice, doesn’t it, Sirs?” Kryten said politely.  
“Yeah, great.” Lister chimed in sulkily, still rubbing the achy spot on his thigh where the biopsy had been taken. They hadn’t had any cookies in the lab.

Flaubèrt led them up a sweeping staircase and along one of the galleries, before opening a door into a disappointingly dusty and bland corridor. “All of the rooms along here are empty, so you can choose whatever suits you. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed until supper.”

Lister found a room with a series of large windows overlooking the gardens and curled up on the bed so he could still see out. He let out a long sigh. Okay, this wasn’t Earth. But right now, with light streaming through the windows, and the rustle of trees and human conversation outside, it really _felt_ like it. But was that enough? Forgetting all the royal silliness, when all of this was sorted out, would he want to stay here? From what he’d seen they could certainly have a nice life. Nicer than it would be on Starbug or even Red Dwarf, certainly. Perhaps even nicer than on Earth depending on what state they found it in. If they ever found it. His eyes drifted closed, the long day and journey catching up with him, and he quickly fell asleep.

Kryten gently shook him awake a couple of hours later. “Wakey-wakey, Sir. I brought you a sandwich for your supper.”  
“Sandwich?” Lister mumbled, rubbing his eyes, “What sort of meal’s that for a king?”  
“It’s coronation chicken, Sir,” Kryten beamed with pride at his joke, “See what I did there?”  
Lister rolled his eyes. “Just gimme the sandwich.” He propped himself up in bed and took the plate. “Where’s Cat and Rimmer?”  
“Mr Rimmer is perusing the art downstairs, I believe. Mr Cat is just...perusing.”  
“He’s got his investigating feet on, has he? Well, keep an eye on him. This is a government building and we’re guests here.”  
“I’ll try to make sure he stays out of trouble.”  
“And you?”  
“I’ve done a little perusing myself, Sir. This is a very impressive building, although it could use a bit of TLC in places. Some of these rooms haven’t been dusted for quite some time. But the kitchens were splendid. I think it will make a very fine palace for you.” He paused. “Should it turn out you have need for one.”  
Lister guffawed, “C’mon Kryters. This is baloney. Rimmer’s right, I’m about as classy as mud.”  
“I’m surprised at you, Mister Lister. Surely you of all people don’t set any store by such things.”  
“Well, I’m not exactly refined, am I?”  
“Even the greatest kings in history still needed to visit the little boys’ room, Sir.”  
“What are you saying to me?” Lister asked, amused. “You really think this could be legit?”  
“Why not?”

Lister paused, uncertainly. “I just...I suppose I would have thought being royalty would _feel_ different, you know?”  
“Why should it? Blood only tells you where you came from, not who you are. It denotes nothing more than genetics.”  
“I know that. And you know I don’t buy into Rimmer’s claptrap about ‘good-breeding’ and majesty being somehow innate in people who are born to it. I know it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference. But...”  
“But?”  
Lister shrugged shamefully, “I guess despite all that, there’s a part of me that feels...unworthy.”  
“No offence, Sir, but that’s preposterous. How many crowns throughout history have sat on the heads of those who were truly worthy? Even the purest of blood does not denote your worth as a human, or suitability as a leader. Think of some of the debaucheries and atrocities committed by such people down the centuries. Noble birth is not indicative of noble spirit.” Kryten patted his hand gently. “You may not be genteel, Sir, or cultivated, or educated. Or cleanly. Or...”  
“Get to the point, Kryten,” Lister narrowed his eyes.  
“Sorry, Sir. My point is that despite all those things, you have the noblest spirit of any human I’ve ever known. I think you are more than worthy of any crown; and not because of the blood in your veins.”  
“Aw. Thanks, man.” Lister said quietly, touched.  
“Although perhaps, if you are to take the throne, we should work on your table manners just an _eency_ bit.”

  
The next morning, after Kryten had prepared a delightfully humorous breakfast of Eggs Royale, Flaubèrt offered to give them all a tour of the museum. Lister agreed, partly out of curiosity but mostly out of politeness. It all sounded ominously educational. Rimmer too seemed less than enthused at the idea. He’d been quiet and moody all morning, no doubt still smarting about the whole situation.

Flaubèrt showed them down to the west wing of the palace, where the museum was installed down a long airy gallery that branched out into the gardens. A series of rooms contained artefacts relating to the founding of Arkeon and its early days as a human settlement. There were displays and models explaining the construction and history of the palace itself. At the very end was a large circular room dedicated to the story of Proteus. The first thing Lister saw as he entered the slightly darkened chamber was a glass case in the centre filled with glittering jewels. “Wow!” He wandered over to take a closer look.  
“Ah,” Flaubèrt said, sounding both amused and a little apologetic. “They’re just reproductions I’m afraid. The real crown jewels of Proteus were lost, either in the fighting or the moon’s destruction. These are just costume pieces; glass mostly.”  
“Still pretty, though,” Lister remarked, admiring the rainbows glinting off the faceted stones. He looked thoughtfully at the objects placed on a velvet cushion in the centre; a twinkling diamond tiara and an ornate crown, designed of twisting golden branches bedecked with jewelled leaves and fruits.  
“Look comfy, Julius?” Rimmer asked snidely, noting his interest.   
Lister stepped away from the case. “Looks heavy,” he replied flatly.

Flaubèrt showed them to the far end of the room, to a rack of VR headsets. “After the civil war began, one of the courtiers made a walkthrough video of the Great Palace of Proteus. She feared the building would not survive the fighting, at least not entirely, so decided to document it for posterity. That footage has since been turned into a virtual reality environment for people to explore. Would you like to see it?”  
“Yeah, of course,” Lister took a headset.  
“Obviously the footage is tremendously old,” Flaubèrt apologised, “It’s had to be remastered a few times, so some of the fine detail has been lost. But it gives you a taste of what it must have been like.”

They ported into the game and found themselves standing outside an ornate baroque-style building that dwarfed even the grand structure here on Arkeon. “Nice!” Cat exclaimed, impressed.  
“Ostentatious,” Rimmer sniffed.

As they entered, it immediately became apparent that - unlike the building in Zenito - the Grand Palace of Proteus had never been intended to serve any practical civic function. Despite its overwhelming size, this was a space to be admired and enjoyed. The shimmering marble floors gleamed in the light of the chandeliers, and detailed Italianate murals covered the walls. They wandered down a long corridor lined with tapestries and portraits, the colours vivid but the details slightly fuzzy or faded. Lister squinted thoughtfully at the indistinct faces they passed. The tour continued on through opulent rooms filled with fine furnishings and accented with glinting gold; mirrors, clocks, and various objets d’art.  
“They weren’t short of a few bob, were they?” Lister remarked, looking around.  
“Indeed not. It’s thought that many billions worth of dollarpounds were lost when Proteus fell,” Kryten confirmed.  
“What happened to it all?”  
“Some of it was looted, some simply destroyed. Remember, the moon was home to more than just this palace. Some of the wealthiest families and grandest houses in the solar system were here.”  
“And all of it gone just like that,” Lister snapped his fingers. “What a waste.”  
“Well, I think it’s vulgar,” Rimmer complained.  
“You would.”  
“ _I_ think it’s awesome,” Cat beamed.  
“You would,” Lister repeated, smirking.  
“What do _you_ think, Sir?” Kryten asked.  
Lister looked around and sighed. “I think it’s all very beautiful and very, very unnecessary.”  
“An accurate description, I think,” Flaubèrt smiled approvingly.

They wandered into a splendid ballroom. At one end, upon a raised dais, sat two ornate golden thrones. “Want to give it a try?” Rimmer needled bitterly. “See how you like it?”  
“Shurrup.” Lister wandered closer to take a better look. The details in the carvings had been lost, but high up above on the wall, framed in a swathe of velvet banners, was a round heraldic shield. The design was bold, and still clear enough to make out. A golden snake on a royal blue and scarlet background. It was curled in a circle, eating its own tail. “That’s cool,” Lister remarked.  
“It was the royal crest of Proteus,” Flaubèrt told him. “There was a ring amongst the crown jewels of the same design, the snake eating its own tail. You can see it in the museum case.”  
“What does it mean?”  
“Oh, it’s a very ancient symbol that predates any settlement on Proteus by thousands of years. The ouroboros is a symbol of infinity - the circle with no beginning or end.”

Lister turned and gave Flaubèrt a strange, startled look. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”  
“Ouroboros. It’s what the symbol is known as.”  
Lister stared up at the crest in stunned silence, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “Are you okay, Sir?” Kryten enquired.  
“Excuse me,” Lister said shortly, “I...think I need to go lie down.” He clapped his hands to exit the simulation, tugged off the headset and scurried away without waiting for the others.

The rest of the crew found him back in his room, pacing restlessly in front of the windows. “Mister Lister?” Kryten ventured nervously, “Is something troubling you?”  
“Course it is,” Cat interrupted, “Look at him. The guy’s jumpier than a flea on hot coals.”  
“I was trying to employ the human concept of ‘tact’, Sir.”  
“You can be tacky later. Right now our bud needs help.”   
Lister continued pacing, “You’re gonna think I’m nuts. But it’s too big to be a coincidence, it can’t be...”  
“What are you ranting about, Lister?” Rimmer snapped.  
“Ouroboros,” Lister said urgently. “The word ‘Ouroboros’ was written on the box I was found in.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“I’m sure. I saw the photograph of it once in my case file. It was printed out in big capital letters down the side.”  
“And no-one thought that was strange?” Rimmer raised an eyebrow.  
“It got translated as ‘Our Rob or Ross’. They just thought my parents couldn’t spell. Mind you, in the neighbourhood I grew up in, that was a pretty fair assumption.”  
“We should tell Mister Flaubèrt at once,” Kryten said earnestly.  
“But what if it is just a coincidence, man? What if they were right all along, and my parents were just morons who couldn’t string a sentence together?”  
“Given all the evidence, Sir, that seems increasingly unlikely.”

His panic growing, Lister turned on Rimmer. “Surely you’ve got a smartarse theory about this?”  
Rimmer glared at him, “What do you want me to say?”  
“Tell me I’m being ridiculous. Give me some long snarky lecture on why none of this is possible. Reassure me that I’m not losing my grip here!”  
Rimmer folded his arms and shuffled awkwardly, clearly wishing for the floor to swallow him up. “I don’t know what to tell you, Lister.”  
“Are you kidding me?”  
“Much as I hate to say it - and _God_ I hate to say it - Kryten’s right. The evidence just keeps stacking up.”  
“Why aren’t you freaking out about this?” Lister demanded suspiciously.  
Rimmer pursed his lips and glanced away guiltily. “There’s something I should probably show you.”

He led them down to one of the many formal halls on the ground floor. It was empty apart from some desks, but the walls were lined with portraits. Rimmer stopped in front of a huge painting in a heavily gilded frame. “I found this when I was looking around last night,” he said grudgingly. “It’s apparently a replica of a picture that used to hang in the throne room of the Great Palace.”

Lister gazed up at an image of a young couple. The gentleman stood tall in a royal blue velvet frock-coat. He was wearing a golden crown just like the one in the museum. His hand was resting fondly on the shoulder of a lovely woman in a red silk ballgown. She was wearing a diamond tiara that also looked familiar. There was a small smiley baby sitting up on her lap, apparently naked but partly wrapped in a snow-white baby blanket. Lister stared at the image, speechless.

“Hey!” Cat piped up loudly, “She looks just like you, buddy!”  
“Yeah,” Lister agreed hoarsely. Because there was no denying it. The resemblance was more than uncanny; it was eerie. The eyes, the smile, everything.  
“According to the information card, this is the last known official portrait of the Protean royal family.” Rimmer told them, sounding deeply depressed. “You are looking at King Roderick and his wife Queen Brisäis. And their son, Prince Julius.”

Lister’s heart was racing. He felt giddy. Nauseous. “If all this is for real,” Rimmer clarified, “then these are your true parents. And that’s you.”  
“Well...” Lister’s voice shook, “the kid doesn’t look _that_ much like me.”  
“It’s a baby. They all look like potatoes.”  
“Sir, I think you should look harder,” Kryten urged.  
“What do you mean?” Lister squinted at the picture.  
“Ah. I always forget that human eyes don’t have a proper zoom mode. To be more specific, if you move your head closer to the image and focus your attention on the child’s right shoulder, I believe you’ll see something rather remarkable.”

Lister leaned in. The blanket was wrapped around the baby rather than over him, and his shoulders and upper chest were bare. On the right shoulder, only visible as the merest dot on the painting, was a small mole. Lister’s hand automatically raised to his own shoulder. Cat, never one for niceties, tugged his hand out the way and pulled his shirt back to take a look for himself. “Hey! Snap!” he crowed triumphantly.

Lister shook him off. With his entire life as he knew it rapidly disintegrating around him, and unable to process the enormity of it all, he groped desperately for comfort in familiarity; and laid into Rimmer. “You found this painting last night. You knew about this _all_ _day_. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”  
“I don’t know,” Rimmer grumbled. “I suppose I thought maybe I was reading too much into it. Or maybe I was hoping the whole thing was just a bad dream.”  
“That’s why you’ve been so stroppy, isn’t it? Because you’re afraid it might all be true!”  
“Well, why are _you_ so stroppy?” Rimmer countered. “If it is true, you should be happier than a rat in a cheese factory, but you’re acting like someone pissed in your coffee. You should be pleased, for smeg’s sake.”  
“I didn’t ask for any of this!”  
“I know! That’s even worse! Do you know how many people dream of something like this? It’s the stuff of fairytales! And it’s wasted on you.”  
“Thanks a lot!”  
“I could have been a prince too, you know, with the right start in life.”  
“The right start in life?! I got dumped under a smegging pool table!”  
“By _royalty_.”

Lister turned around, squeezing his head between his hands. “This is crazy. It’s just a painting. People find resemblances in old paintings all the time.”  
“Sir, I think you’re downplaying the relevance of this discovery.”  
“Okay, say there is a connection somewhere. Maybe Flaubèrt is right and the king or queen had another sibling no-one remembers. Maybe there was an illegitimate child somewhere along the family line that got covered up. There’s a million possibilities. It doesn’t necessarily mean that that’s me!” He pointed accusingly at the baby.

“I see you found the family portrait.” They all turned to see Flaubèrt in the doorway. He gave them a wan smile. Lister suddenly remembered the comment he’d made the day before about not looking like a prince, and Flaubèrt’s response. This painting might be a revelation to them, but the Prime Minister must have seen it a thousand times. He had seen the family resemblance the moment they’d met; as indeed the rest of parliament must have.

“Why didn’t you show me this before?” Lister asked.  
“Forgive me, perhaps I should have done. But you seemed a little rattled by this whole business and I thought it might be better to build up to it by showing you the museum first. I planned to bring you here after.” He glanced up at the portrait. “The resemblance really is even more striking seeing you side by side.”  
“Prime Minister, Sir, I believe Mister Lister has something to tell you.” Kryten gently nudged Lister forward. Flaubèrt, clearly seeing the reticence in Lister’s face, brushed it aside. “We can discuss it later. I came to call you to the chamber. The test results are back. They’re about to announce them to parliament.”

Lister gulped.


	5. Chapter 5

Lister sat with the rest of the crew in the front row of the chamber, next to the podium. The two geneticists he’d met in the lab the day before were also sitting nearby, and they nodded to him respectfully. One of them was holding a large white envelope. Lister’s gaze lingered on it nervously. _Just stay calm. The tests will be negative. They must be. **But what if they’re not?** They will be. **But the crest! The painting!** This is all just a crazy misunderstanding. You are not a long-lost Neptunian prince. Okay? Chill out._

Flaubèrt took the floor. “Thank you all for coming. I know you’re as eager to hear the news as I am, so without further ado I will hand over to Mr Mueller.”

The man holding the envelope got up from his seat and stepped up to the podium. He cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. I have with me the results from the genetic tests which Mister Lister was kind enough to submit to yesterday. Obviously there is an issue of reliability, in that the comparative data we have is immensely ancient. We are working from medical records which, although carefully preserved, cannot be scientifically verified in terms of either accuracy or authenticity; and therefore in turn these results cannot be considered incontrovertible. Understand, our findings are only as good as our data. Having made that clear, I will now share with you the results.”

Mueller slid a few sheafs of paper out of the envelope he held. “We took a range of samples and used a number of different methods to get the most detailed picture possible. On comparing the information gathered from Mister Lister’s samples with medical records pertaining to the last known members of the Protean royal family, there does indeed appear to be a clear genetic link.”

Lister felt the eyes of every person in the room fix on him, and tried to stop the gut-twisting panic he felt from showing on his face.

“Can you give us any more details?” Flaubèrt asked politely.  
“Such as?”  
“Can you tell us how strong the link is? Are we talking about a direct descendant? A shared ancestor? A distant cousin maybe?”  
“The link is strong. Frankly, much stronger than anyone ever could have expected given the circumstances.”  
“Meaning?”  
“The results are what we would expect to find in a close family member. Without wishing to infer anything, and remembering that nothing is 100% certain given the length of time that’s passed...” Mueller cast a long appraising look at Lister, “...if the same samples were examined in the context of a paternity test, they would pass. The link is strong enough to be considered a match.”

A ripple of shock spread through the room. Whispers of “Julius!” and “It really is him!” filled Lister’s ears. He turned desperately to his crewmates for reassurance. Kryten and Cat looked thrilled. Rimmer looked like he was about to throw up.

“Thank you, Mr Mueller. We are very grateful to you and your colleagues for your expert assistance in this matter.” Flaubèrt faced the assembled ministers. “Esteemed members of the house, we have a result. Now the time has come to cast a vote. Lady Chamberlain, if you would please do the honours.”  
The Chamberlain stood, and banged her staff on the ground three times. “Given the evidence presented to us today, do we recognise Mister Lister - as he is currently known - as the presumptive heir to the throne of Proteus? Please raise your hand if yay and abstain if nay.” The cabinet unanimously raised their hands. “The motion is upheld. As rightful heir to the now obsolete throne of Proteus, do we, the duly elected ruling body of this planet, wish to instate His Royal Highness as the new monarch and head of state, and bestow upon him the title of Prince of Arkeon, to be named King upon coronation? Yay or nay?”  
“But...” Lister croaked. It was already too late.   
“The motion is upheld.” The Chamberlain banged her staff again three times.

Lister slumped back in his seat, mind awhirl, as she addressed Flaubèrt. “Prime Minister, the house trusts that you will begin making arrangements as necessary. There is much to be done.”  
“Indeed, Lady Chamberlain.” Flaubèrt cast a sidelong look at Lister’s grey face. “Although might I suggest we allow a short period before the coronation to let His Highness adjust to these events, which have no doubt been even more shocking and unexpected to him than they have been to us. It would also give us a chance to present him to the people of Arkeon before he is crowned.”  
“That seems eminently sensible. Proceed as you see fit and report back to us as matters progress.”

As the crowd dispersed, Lister fled to his room and paced like a trapped animal before sinking onto the bed, head in hands. “Congratulations, Sir!” Kryten said, peeping around the door. “I mean, your Highness.”  
“What am I gonna do?” Lister wailed, his eyes wide and frantic.  
“Relax, buddy!” Cat shouldered his way past Kryten. “You’re the head honcho now. We’re on the gravy train!”  
“But...but I don’t know what I’m doing! They want to make me the head of state! I can’t rule a planet! I don’t even know how to work a washing machine properly! I don’t know what all the symbols mean! I can’t .... I caaaa...” he started wheezing, clutching at his chest.  
“Sir, you’re hyperventilating. You need to calm down. Mister Rimmer, do you still have those Chinese worry balls?”  
“Have them? I’m _using_ them,” Rimmer growled through gritted teeth, holding his hand out to demonstrate. Kryten tutted and waddled over to give Lister a reassuring hug. “Now, now. Just breathe, Sir. In, out, there we go. You never have to do any laundry while I’m around, and that’s a promise.”

Lister clung to Kryten’s arm, panting, “Maybe it’s a set up. Maybe the results are fake.”  
“I don’t think that’s likely, Sir. Even without the lab results, there appears to be a fair amount of evidence to suggest you have a connection to the family somehow.”  
“Okay. Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. At midnight, we sneak out back to Starbug, and get the smeg out of here.”  
“Oh, Sir, _really_ ,” Kryten scolded disapprovingly.  
“It’ll be fine. They’ll just find someone else.”  
“It took them three million years to find _you_ , Sir.”  
“I’m with Prince Listy on this one,” Rimmer said. “I say leg it.”  
“But why?”  
“Kryten, you’re talking about a man who once quit a job parking shopping trolleys because he didn’t want to get tied down to a career. The responsibility of ruling a planet might prove just a tiny weeny stretch.”  
“What’s the big deal?” Cat complained. “All you gotta do is kiss a few babies and wave at some peasants, and you’re set for life!”  
“Don’t believe it, Listy. It’s all champagne and strawberries at first, but put a foot wrong and next thing you know you’re getting marched to the guillotine.”

“Arrghhh! This can’t be happening!” Lister curled up and buried his head under the pillows.  
“I really don’t think you need to worry about execution, Sir.”  
“You can never be certain,” Rimmer muttered.  
“You’re approaching this the wrong way,” Kryten told him cheerfully. “Instead of focusing on the negatives, think of all the wonderful opportunities you’ll have. This is an extraordinary chance for you to grow as a person!”  
“I don’t want to!” Lister protested from under the pillow.  
“But you have a responsibility....”  
“Tralalalala....I can’t hear you!”  
“So regal,” Rimmer remarked sweetly. “So dignified.”

Cat marched over, snatched the pillow and beat Lister with it a few times. “Listen up, buddy! I _like_ this place! The food is good! I can go outside whenever I want! There’s all kinds of females just walking around the place! And I ain’t going back to living in some stuffy sardine tin of a ship just because _you_ don’t know how to king properly! So figure it out!”  
Lister grabbed the pillow back and swatted Cat with it in retaliation. “That’s the smegging problem, you doink! Proper royals get taught how to deal with this stuff. They spend their whole lives learning how to do it. They get _training_. I am not even _remotely_ prepared for _any_ of this!”

“Well,” Kryten mused, “he has a point, Mister Lister. They did say the role was mostly ceremonial.”  
“ _Mostly_. What does that mean?”  
“Well, obviously there would be some royal duties you would have to attend to.”  
“Like?”  
“I imagine a certain degree of public relations would be involved. Charity functions. Royal balls and such.”  
“Ugh.”  
“And you would probably need at least some level of engagement with the local politics.”  
“Double ugh.”  
“But,” Kryten stressed, “you would also have the kind of life that most humans throughout history have only been able to dream of. Wealth. Privilege. Power. And the opportunity to maybe use those things to make a real difference in the lives of the people here on this planet.”   
“Yeah! You could also use those things to improve the lives of some people standing right here!” Cat added irritably, hands on his hips.

Lister looked up at them all. “Do you guys really want to stay? All of you?”  
“Hell yeah!” Cat confirmed emphatically.  
“I must say this planet is something of a refreshing change,” Kryten admitted.  
“Yes, so many new rooms to clean,” Rimmer piped up sarcastically.  
“Mister Rimmer, even you have to admit that living here in the palace would be nicer than spending the rest of our lives on Starbug.”  
“With him as king? Doubtful. The whole place will go to wrack and ruin in a month.”  
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Lister asked indignantly, “Burn the place down?”  
“Lister, you set fire to your own smegging sheets less than a month ago because you were smoking in bed. Maybe not the best example.”  
“That could happen to anyone!”  
“That’s right. Just ignore him, Sir. You can do this.”  
“Oh no, he can’t.”  
“Oh yes, he can!” Cat argued back.  
“Right! Everybody out!” Lister leapt up. “I need time to think about all this.”  
“That’s the spirit, bud! You take charge!”  
“We’re leaving right away, Sir. Just as you wish, your Highness.”  
“Out! Shoo! Go on!”  
“Just for the record, I’m only leaving because I want to,” Rimmer sniffed haughtily. “Not because you say so, _Julie_.”  
“OUT!”

Later that night, Lister went back to the hall where the painting hung. He sat cross-legged on one of the desks, and stared at it thoughtfully. The figures stared back at him. Even now, with all the evidence before him, Lister still couldn’t quite latch on to the idea that these people might actually be his parents. It would have been easier if it had been a photograph. It would have made the whole thing feel more real, more tangible. The painting was a step removed from reality. It was an image that felt like it belonged to history, to a storybook; not to his life. He couldn’t feel a connection.

“Quite a day for you, eh? Mind you, quite a day for all of us.” Flaubèrt wandered in and stood next to him. He turned to admire the painting. “If you’re anything to go by, the artist certainly captured her likeness.”  
“Even that scientist guy said nothing’s 100%,” Lister protested feebly.  
“Very true. But the same could be said of many things in life. That desk, what do you think it’s made of?”  
“I dunno. Wood, I suppose.”  
“Pine? Oak?”  
“Something like that.”  
“It could be beech. It could be veneer over plastic.”  
“So?”  
“Whatever it actually is, it looks like wood. And it appears to be doing a perfectly acceptable job of being a desk. Appearances go a long way.”  
“So it doesn’t matter who I really am, so long as the crown fits. Is that what you’re saying?”  
“Oh, I would never say that. I think who you are matters a great deal. But as we can be fairly sure now that you’re not just veneer, I’m not sure it matters if you’re pine or oak. Or even beech. You are what you need to be to do the job.”  
“It doesn’t make sense though.” Lister looked at the proud mother cradling her baby. “I mean, she had options; a whole solar system to choose from. Why would she abandon her only child, the heir to the throne, the key to the entire future of the royal line, in some dive in Liverpool?”  
“The simple answer is: why not? You survived. You grew up as a normal child in the last place anyone would ever look for you, unless they knew you were there.”  
“If I was meant to be in hiding, the ‘ouroboros’ thing was a bit of a giveaway.”  
“Was it? You grew up on Earth, can you tell me what the crest of the Swedish royal family was?”  
“No.”  
“There you are. She left you a clue which wouldn’t mean a thing to most people, or indeed to you - until she needed it to. Although she probably never imagined it would take _quite_ this long.”  
“Still, _Toxteth_ of all places?”   
“Who knows? Perhaps she had a ladies maid who grew up there; who knew of a friendly local bar that would be a safe place to leave a baby. Or maybe that was never the plan. Perhaps your guardian was intercepted en route to the intended hiding place and was forced to leave you or risk discovery. The civil war was a bitter one. I have no doubt that your life would have been at risk if the Duke had discovered your whereabouts.”

Lister looked thoughtfully at King Roderick. “Do you think he really was murdered?”   
“History seems to think so. The Duke was certainly a ruthless man.”  
Lister stared mournfully at the painting. “I should be smegging pissed about that. I mean, if I am...y’know. If this was a movie, this would be the part where I came back for vengeance on the guy who destroyed my family, my home and my life. But instead I’m sat here three million years too late, with nothing but an old picture and a crazy story. So what the smeg am I supposed to do?”  
“I can’t help but notice you seem a little...conflicted about all this.”  
“Well, it’s all a bit sudden, man.”  
“It is.”  
“And I’m not exactly a fit for the part, am I?”  
“No?”  
“No! Can you see me on a great white charger?”

Flaubèrt smiled. “I think perhaps your expectations of what it means to be a king are a little outdated. No-one expects you to lead the army into battle.”  
“What _do_ they expect?” Lister asked. “What am I getting myself into here?”  
“Honestly? Mostly PR. Smile. Wave. Give the odd speech. You don’t even have to write it - unless you want to. You authorise all new laws passed by parliament. You swear in the new Prime Minister when the time comes.”  
“That’s it?”  
“Pretty much.”  
“So if I don’t like the law I can refuse to pass it?”  
“Yes, in theory. Although I wouldn’t recommend it unless absolutely necessary. It won’t go down well with parliament or the people. Our population is small and our politics aren’t extreme, it shouldn’t be hard to remain neutral.”  
“What if I don’t get all the politics stuff?”  
“I can advise you where necessary.”  
“I dunno,” Lister looked doubtful. “Don’t royal advisors tend to be evil?”  
“I shall endeavour not to be.”

Lister considered all this. “Why do you even need me? Arkeon seems to function perfectly well as it is without some jerk in a crown bossing people about.”  
“Morale is low right now. You remember what I told you, about the threat from outside?”  
“Yeah.”  
“A little over a month ago, a small GELF ship managed to slip past our defences. It was a stupid error and the damn fools didn’t even know what they’d stumbled upon. They just wanted to see if there was anything of value here. They didn’t find Zenito; but they did find a small farm out on the plains. And the family who lived there.” Lister cringed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. “They took them captive and tried to leave with them. By this time, our systems had picked up the breach. We identified the craft and made contact. They refused to land. We were left with only one choice. We had to shoot them down, with the family on board. There were no survivors.”  
“Who made that call?”  
“I did. If they had left and spread the word about what they’d found here, how many ships would have come back? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? Our defences are good but they are not impenetrable; nor are they inexhaustible.” Flaubèrt looked Lister in the eye. “I bear the burden of that decision and it is heavy. It has been deeply upsetting for all of us. Arkeon needs a light to cut through the darkness right now. We need a symbol of unity to remind us that such sacrifices are not meaningless. A king could be that symbol. _You_ could be that symbol.”

Lister huffed reluctantly. “Can I make laws?”  
“No.”  
“Can I make people knights and dukes and stuff?”  
“Yes.”  
“Can I declare public holidays?”  
“If you clear it with parliament first.”  
“Can I make my birthday a public holiday?”  
“I expect so.”  
“Can I have a pony?”  
“If you want one.”  
“That was a joke.”  
“Nonetheless.”  
“You’re making this all sound suspiciously straight-forward. What’s the catch?”  
“The catch is you have to live up to your side of the bargain. You have to be the king; with all that entails. And I must warn you that while support for instating a monarch is very high, it isn’t universal. You may face some criticism, some opposition. Not everyone will believe you’re really of the royal blood, let alone Prince Julius himself, even with the test results to back it up.”  
“I don’t blame them. It’s ridiculous.”  
“Life does not follow narrative rules, sadly.”

Lister gave another pained look at the portrait, “I dunno, man.”  
“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll do very well.”  
“You don’t even know me.”  
“From what I have seen, you are not a greedy man or an opportunist. You haven’t exploited this situation. You have asked for nothing. Where others would have leapt at this position, you have shied away. You fear failure, which means you care about doing a good job. You are not arrogant or cocky, which suggests you will accept counsel where needed. And perhaps it only matters superficially, but it _does_ matter to people, you look the right man for the job.” He glanced meaningfully at the painting.

Lister looked at the woman who might be his mother and sighed heavily. Flaubèrt noticed. “Three million years ago, that woman gave up her child in the hope that one day the line of Proteus could be restored. You may or may not be that child, but you have the power to ensure that her actions were not in vain.” He turned and left Lister alone with his thoughts. Lister went back to staring at the painting.

King Roderick and Queen Brisäis smiled at him from the past. Little Prince Julius peeped smugly out of his mother’s lap. Lister glared at them all.

“Smeg,” he grumbled.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

When Lister finally returned to his room, the other three were waiting for him anxiously. “Sir, have you decided what you want to do?” Kryten asked.  
“Yeah,” Lister said. “I have.”  
“What’s it to be, buddy? You gonna reign or you gonna run?”  
Lister took a deep breath before replying; doubt still gnawing at him like a hamster on a cardboard loo roll. “I’m gonna do it. I’m going to stay.”  
Cat whooped with delight. “Oh, Sir!” Kryten gushed, “I’m so proud. I knew you’d make the right decision.”  
“You can’t be serious,” Rimmer protested.  
“I know it’ll be weird at first, and I’ll need lots of help, but it seems to really mean a lot to these people. And when I look at that painting downstairs... when I look at them with their baby...whoever they are and whoever I am, I feel like it would have meant a lot to them.”

“Oh, don’t give me that sentimental drivel!” Rimmer snapped. “I know the real reason you’re doing this.”  
“Which is?”  
“You’re doing it to annoy me! It’s a transparent attempt to get my goat.”  
“Yes, that’s right,” Lister rolled his eyes, “You got me. It’s all about _you_.”  
“In all the years we’ve known each other, you have never shown the slightest interest in bettering yourself, socially or otherwise. So why, out of nowhere, this sudden desire to climb the ladder? I’ll tell you why; out of pure petty spite.”  
“Oh, for smeg’s sake. What makes you think I give a crap about your feelings on the matter, you noodle?”  
“It’s been secretly eating away at you all these years, hasn’t it? The fact that I’m a whole technician grade above you. Now you’ve finally got a chance to get your own back. You couldn’t rule Z-shift, so instead you found yourself a planet to rule!”

“Hey, _they_ found _me_. And it’s not even like I’m going to be running the show. Mostly what they want me to do is sit around looking pretty.”  
“Man, you really are gonna need a lot of help.” Cat raised an eyebrow.  
“So don’t you project all of your weird power and authority issues onto me,” Lister continued hotly. “I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”  
“You’ll crash and burn like an alley-cat in a karaoke contest.”  
“Thanks for your support!”  
“Well, it’s preposterous!” Rimmer exploded. “A man who bites his own toenails is not fit to be royalty!”  
“Excuse me? And you think you are?”  
“More than you!”  
“You’re just pissy because you’ve spent your whole miserable existence clinging to the idea that despite all your failures at least you were better than me, and now all of that’s gone down the crapper and you can’t stand it!”  
“At least I know what a nail brush is for! You’re a disgrace to the word royalty!”  
“I may not be perfect,” Lister bristled, “I may not know anything about manners or etiquette or...”  
“Hygiene,” Rimmer interjected nastily.  
“But I can learn!” Lister ploughed on.   
“You think you can fake your way through this? I can see it now. You’ll be sitting at the royal banquet table like one of those chimps playing at being at a tea party.”  
“Oh, yeah? Well, if you’re so refined, how come you didn’t know gazpacho soup is served cold?” Lister snapped. Rimmer gasped.

“I can learn which fork to use for what, and how to walk and talk and act like I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth,” Lister went on furiously, “Because you know what? That’s all it is. It’s learned behaviour, it’s an act; and I can pull it off as well as any _chimp_ who ever wore a crown, because I’m just as good as any of them ever were. Maybe even you could learn how to not be a pompous arsehole.”  
“Oh, it didn’t take long did it, Listy?” Rimmer hissed. “48 hours of thinking you might be a prince and suddenly you’re getting _way_ above yourself.”  
“I _am_ a prince,” Lister thundered, drawing himself up. “You heard the decree. As of this morning, I am Prince David of Arkeon, last of the royal bloodline of Proteus, and direct descendant of King Roderick and Queen Brisäis. I am all of those things whether you like it or not, and soon I am going to be the king whether you like it or not, and I do not have to put up with this crap! Now get the hell out of my royal bedchamber or I will summon the guards to throw you out!”

Rimmer’s jaw dropped. Lister stared him down with fire in his eyes. “Fine,” Rimmer peeped after a second’s hesitation, “I’m going. But don’t come crying to me when it all goes to pot and you end up humiliating yourself.” He stomped to the door.   
Lister slammed it behind him and then leaned against it, panting. “Oh my god,” he said breathlessly. “Where did _that_ come from?”  
“You know the old saying, Sir: ‘Blood will out’. I suspect that somewhere your ancestors are feeling rather proud right now.” Kryten looked delighted.  
Lister put his hands to his face, “Do I even _have_ guards?”  
“I imagine there’s some about the place.”  
Cat leaned in with a conspiratorial grin, “How did that feel, buddy?”  
Lister grinned back, “Y’know what? It felt pretty good.”

It took a while for Lister to get to sleep that night. His mind was spinning with everything that had happened, and wondering what would happen next. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

He was awoken in the morning by the bedroom door banging open, and Cat marching in with his arms full of bags. He was followed by an entourage of three palace staff, also with their arms full. “Rise and shine, bud!”  
“Wass goin’ on?” Lister rubbed his eyes, “What time is it?”  
“Nearly eleven. You’ve slept long enough. We’ve got work to do.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“You’re a prince now. That means it’s time for you to have a makeover!”  
“Wait. What?”  
Cat yanked the covers off him and bundled him out of bed and into the bathroom. “Go get yourself cleaned up. Chop chop. We haven’t got all day.”

Too sleepy and dazed to argue, Lister did as he was bid. As he stepped into the shower, Cat put his head around the bathroom door and threw a small bag at him. “Hey!” Lister protested, just managing to catch it before it hit him in the face. “What are you doing?”  
“Just giving you some new stuff.”  
Lister looked inside. The bag contained an assortment of fancy toiletries and a pair of black silk boxers. “What the...What is all this?”  
“Do I really have to explain washing to you?”  
“But what do I need super-collagen-infused lotus flower, sage and sandalwood body lotion for?” Lister asked perplexed.   
“Because a prince should have petal soft skin and smell like an exotic garden after a light summer rain. Duh!” Cat slammed the door.

When Lister ventured timidly out of the bathroom in his new boxers, his room looked very different. A full-length three-panelled mirror had appeared from nowhere, along with a dressing table. There was fabric draped over every available surface. “Where did you get all this stuff?”  
“I went shopping with my assistants this morning,” Cat said happily.  
“Assistants? Why do you suddenly have assistants? And where did you get the money for all this stuff?”  
“That Prime Minister dude.”  
“Flaubèrt?”  
“Yeah, him. I told him I’m your royal fashion advisor and he gave me a bag of shiny gold coins to buy you some new stuff, and these guys to help carry it all.”

Cat grabbed Lister’s hand and twirled him around to stand in front of the mirror. He started to hold up different fabrics against him critically. “Now, we have to decide on an image for you. What do you think? Sleek and modern? Fanciful fairytale? Rustic and rugged?”  
“I don’t know!”  
Cat tutted, and whipped out a tape measure. Lister squirmed self-consciously as his vital statistics were methodically scrutinised. “Don’t you need to write all this down?” he asked.  
“What for?”  
“So you remember it.”  
“Don’t insult me, bud. I could whip you up the best-fitting suit you ever wore in your life just by looking at you. But we’re looking for extra special here. You - get rid of those,” Cat waved one disdainful hand at Lister’s old leathers where they’d been dropped in the corner and one of his assistants hurried to scoop them up.  
“But they’re mine!” Lister protested.  
“We’re meant to be giving you a new look, bud.”  
“I still want my old stuff!”  
“Fine. Sidney, take them away and get them cleaned at least.”  
“Yes, Mr Cat.”  
“Right!” He clapped his hands, “To the sewing machines!”  
“All of you?”  
“I’m good, bud, but even I can’t knock up a whole new wardrobe in a day.”

Cat whirled out with his minions and closed the door behind him, leaving a stupefied Lister standing in his underwear in front of the mirror, feeling like he’d just been through a tornado. “Hey!” he shouted after them. “What am I supposed to wear in the meantime?”

Fortunately, before long, Kryten arrived with some breakfast. “Ah, you’re up early today, your Highness.”  
“Kryten, you don’t have to call me that.”  
“I thought it might help you get used to it.”  
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. If you want to help, you can find me something to smegging wear. Cat stole my clothes.”  
“He did seem rather excitable this morning. I’m sure I can find you something that will do.”  
“Have you seen Rimmer?” Lister asked, suddenly remembering the row the night before with a twinge of guilt.  
“Not yet.”  
“I should probably go and talk to him.”  
“What for?”  
“Well...because we had a fight.”  
“Sir, you’re a prince now! You don’t have to kowtow to Mister Rimmer’s moods and tantrums for the sake of a quiet life. You could have him ejected from the palace altogether if you so wished.”  
“I can’t do that!”  
“I’m merely pointing out that it’s an option,” Kryten said innocently.  
Lister smirked, “Yeah, okay. Duly noted. But if it’s all the same, I’d rather have him onside. I think I’m going to need all the help I can get. Besides, prince or not, I said some stuff I shouldn’t have. Even if he was being a knobhead.”  
“Very well. You eat your breakfast and I’ll find you some temporary attire while Mister Cat is creating.”

Some time later, dressed in a pink ‘Zenito Summer Fun Run’ t-shirt and a pair of whitewash-splattered jeans rolled up at the cuffs, Lister ventured down the hall to knock at Rimmer’s door.  
“Rimmer? You in there, man?”  
“No.”  
“Come on, don’t be like that.”  
“I’m sorry. No, _your Highness_.”  
“Look, I’m sorry I said...you know what. That was out of order. But you weren’t exactly charming yourself.”  
“Oh, I get it. Because you’re _Prince_ Charming now.”  
“What? No! What are you even...? Look, just open the smegging door.”  
“By royal command?”  
“Yes, actually!”  
“Hmmm. Let me think about it a moment.” There was a pause and then Rimmer blew a loud raspberry through the door.  
“Why are you being like this?” Lister demanded. “I know you’re jealous, but if you get over yourself for five minutes you could be out here making the most of this, just like Cat and Kryten are. There are benefits to hanging out with royalty, you know.” Silence. “Fine. Sit on your own and sulk then. But you can’t stay in there forever. This is happening and sooner or later you’re going to have to come out and face reality.”  
“Later’s fine.”  
Lister rolled his eyes and gave up.

He headed downstairs and found the ground floor of the palace buzzing with activity. Various people in suits, overalls, and everything inbetween bowed to him reverentially as he passed. Lister responded with what he hoped were friendly but regal nods. He found Flaubèrt in one of the offices, stamping various forms and handing them out to a gaggle of assistants. “Ah. Good afternoon, your Highness. I’m glad to see you, we have much to discuss.”  
“Er, yeah. I suppose we do.”  
“I understand your friend has started work on creating a new wardrobe for you.”  
“Yeah, but you might regret it. I may end up attending the coronation in a zebra-print zoot suit and platform heels.”  
“I’m sure we can settle on something suitable. I hope it’s alright with you, but I’ve started to make arrangements for the redecoration of your apartments upstairs, and for the remodelling of the grand chamber for the coronation.”  
“Um, I guess so. Do I need to do anything?”  
“Not at present. I believe a photographer is scheduled for a photoshoot tomorrow, ahead of your first official public appearance on Friday.”  
“Really? That soon?” Lister asked nervously.  
“The people of Arkeon have a prince now. They want to meet him.” Flaubèrt eyed Lister’s scavenged clothes. “Hopefully you’ll have more fitting attire ready by then.”  
“Hopefully _I’m_ ready by then.”  
“I’ll go through everything with you beforehand. Don’t panic. Also, I’ve put aside a secluded office down the hall for your personal use. Would you like to see it?”  
“I guess so.”

Flaubèrt showed Lister to a pleasant room overlooking a pretty courtyard. “We’ll get a proper writing desk and a chair for you, so you have somewhere to work when attending to matters of state and greeting dignitaries and such.”  
“That sounds fine,” Lister said thoughtfully. “I’ll probably need more chairs though if I’m going to be doing that sort of stuff, and having meetings with my advisors in here. Probably a table too.”  
“Very good thinking, your Highness. I shall see to it at once.” Flaubèrt bowed and went to leave.  
Lister stopped him. “Hey, Flaubèrt...?”  
“Yes?”  
Lister stared into the empty room with a strange expression. “Can you make it a _round_ table?” he asked casually.  
“Of course, your Highness. Whatever you please.”

Lister hugged himself and grinned.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Lister was awoken once more by Cat barging in. This time he was pushing a rack full of new clothes. His assistants followed with even more. “Hey bud! I bet you’re wondering what we’ve got for you!”  
“I’m wondering why I didn’t learn my lesson and lock the door after what happened yesterday,” Lister grumbled.  
“We need to start getting you ready. The photographer will be here in just over an hour.”  
“Really?” Lister moaned.  
“Come on! It’s gonna be fun!” Cat grinned widely.  
“For _you_ maybe.” Flaubèrt’s words came back to him.... _You have to live up to your side of the bargain. You have to be the king; with all that entails_.... He huffed heavily. “Okay, okay. I’m getting up. Show me what you’ve got.”

Cat and his friends had certainly been busy. A variety of shirts, trousers, jackets, waistcoats, jumpers and ties hung in pristine rows before him, in all different colours and fabrics. A collection of shoes, from glistening black oxfords to tall brown leather riding boots were stacked to one side. “This is all very nice,” Lister said, trying his best to be diplomatic, “but what about my casual clothes?”  
“Your _what_?”  
“You know, for just bumming about the place on my days off.”  
“You don’t get days off from being royalty!”  
“But I need some clothes that I can chill out in, and spill curry down and stuff. Like t-shirts and cargo pants.”  
Cat glowered at him sternly, “How long have we known each other?”  
“I dunno. Ten years, I suppose, give or take a few hundred.”  
“And in all that time, have you ever seen me wear a t-shirt and cargo pants?”  
“No.”  
“That’s right. You know why?”  
“Why?”  
“Because I’m better than that!” Cat snapped fiercely. He thrust a finely manicured finger in Lister’s face, “And starting today _you_ are better than that. You are a prince! You are style and grace personified, and you do not wear _casual_ clothes. You think Aragorn slobbed around Gondor in a tracksuit after he became king?”  
“I’ve told you before, those movies are not historical documentaries!” Lister swatted Cat’s hand out of his face.  
“Whatever. The point is Dave Lister might wear tea-stained long johns, but Prince David of Arkeon does not. Not on my watch, buddy.”  
“Okay, okay.”

Kryten arrived with a breakfast tray. “Good morning, your Highness! I see your new wardrobe is ready.”  
“Not yet,” Cat corrected him, “This is only the first lot.”  
“You mean there’s more?” Lister asked wide-eyed. “Where am I going to put it all?”  
“Relax, you’ve got a whole palace.”  
“But...”  
“Don’t fret about that now, Sir. We’ll sort something out. You eat your breakfast, you’ve got a long day ahead.”  
“Good thinking,” Cat agreed. “Get him to eat first so he doesn’t spill food all down his new clothes.”

A short while later, Lister found himself dressed in a crisp pale blue summer suit and a white shirt. “No tie,” Cat said. “We’re keeping the look informal for now.”  
“I thought princes didn’t do informal,” Lister sniped.  
“They don’t do casual. They can do informal.”

They made their way downstairs. Cat insisted on bringing several changes of clothes with them just in case, and enlisted Kryten to help him carry it all. A member of the palace staff directed them to the chamber where the family portrait was hanging. Lister blinked in surprise as they entered. The desks had all been pushed back against the far wall and the photographer had put up a miniature studio, with large lights and reflective screens strategically placed around a small elaborate set. The area around the painting had been redressed in a weird sort of gothic/baroque hybrid style, with a background of heavy gold damask curtains, ornate candelabras and dark fur throws. A suit of armour stood in one corner, with a set of large antlers mounted on the wall above it. In the centre was a tall gilded chair placed under the portrait. Flaubèrt was standing by the camera, talking to a man Lister assumed was the photographer. They greeted him enthusiastically as he entered.

“Here he is. Good morning, your Highness.”  
“My prince,” the photographer scurried over and bowed, “It is truly an honour.”  
“Erm, thanks,” Lister said awkwardly. “What’s your name?”  
“Nduba, your Highness. Gianni Nduba.”  
“Gianni is Zenito’s foremost fashion and celebrity photographer,” Flaubèrt explained.  
“But I have never photographed royalty before!” Nduba beamed.  
“Well, I’ve never _been_ royalty before,” Lister remarked, “We can learn together.” He looked over at the set. “This looks...interesting.”  
“Isn’t it great?” Cat was already exploring. “So stylish!”  
“But it’s all fake, man.”  
“I prefer to call it an illusion,” Flaubèrt said. “It’s just an aid to the imagination, that’s all.”  
“Exactly,” Nduba agreed. “Clothes do not maketh the man...”  
“They don’t?” Cat frowned, perplexed.  
“...But they can make a statement. Today that statement is ‘Behold your new prince’.”  
Lister squinted at the set, “Okay. But what’s the stuffed raven in the gold birdcage for?”  
“Ambience. Shall we begin?”  
“Wait a minute,” Cat held up a hand. “He needs to get changed first.”  
“But I only just got dressed!” Lister protested.  
“No, no, he’s right,” Nduba insisted. “That get up isn’t in keeping with the look. Too modern.”  
“Leave it to me,” Cat grabbed Lister’s arm and pulled him behind one of the screens.  
Lister gave Kryten a pained look as he was dragged away. “You were right. It’s going to be a long day.”

Eventually he re-emerged in a collarless red silk shirt, tight black velvet trousers and calf-length black leather boots. “Perfect!” Nduba rhapsodised.  
“Excellent choice,” Flaubèrt nodded approvingly. “The red is very appropriate - it really highlights the resemblance to the portrait.”  
“You look very nice, Sir,” Kryten said supportively.  
“I feel like a total gimp,” Lister complained.  
“You look fabulous, your Highness. Take a seat.” Lister sat nervously on the mock throne. It creaked. Nduba came over and arranged him so he was sitting in roughly the same position as the queen in the painting above. “Oh, and let’s add some accessories, shall we?” He placed a simple gold circlet onto Lister’s head. “There. Now you _really_ look like a prince.”  
“Just a moment,” Cat pushed in with a small soft brush and started dabbing at Lister’s cheeks. He screwed his face up irritably, “What are you doing?”  
“Just some contouring to make your cheekbones pop. Now hold still while I do your eyeliner.”  
“Get off me. Can we just do this please?”

After half an hour of being photographed in increasingly ridiculous poses (-“Now put one leg over the arm of the chair. Okay, now both legs. Now let’s get a shot of you with the raven perched on your shoulder. Now stare at it like it’s talking to you.”-) Lister noticed Rimmer sidling in. “Oh, hello,” he said sarcastically, “Look who finally decided to leave his room.”  
“I was curious to see how the _tea party_ was coming along,” Rimmer snarked back.  
“It’s coming along just fine, thank you.”  
“Why is there a dead bird on your shoulder?”  
“Ambience,” Lister snapped.  
“You look like a total gimp.”  
“Hey,” Cat grinned, “That’s exactly what you s...”  
“Never mind,” Lister cut him off with a glare.

Rimmer surveyed the scene with a sour smirk, “This whole thing is farcical.”  
“Oh, please. If you were in my shoes you’d be lapping this up and you know it.”  
“If I was in your shoes I wouldn’t let Cat anywhere near me or my wardrobe.”  
“You have almost these exact same trousers in blue, smeghead.”  
“No, I don’t.”  
“You do to!”  
“Mine are totally different.”  
“How?”  
“They’re part of my uniform, they’re sensible! They’re not for sprawling about looking like I’m auditioning for the lead in a cheap am-dram production of an Anne Rice novel.”  
“Smeg off! I do not!”  
Rimmer looked closely at him. “Are you wearing makeup?”  
“Right. I’ve had enough of this,” Lister folded his arms. “Off with his head!”  
“ _What???_ ”  
“You heard me.”  
“Hey, it’s tough but fair, bud.” Cat shrugged.  
Lister drank in Rimmer’s look of horror for a good ten seconds before snorting a laugh. “I’m just messing with you. I don’t have the authority to do that.” He cast a nervous look at Flaubèrt. “Do I?” Flaubèrt smiled indulgently and gave a gentle shake of his head. “Ah, well. That’s probably for the best.”

“Don’t laugh about it, you pleb.” Rimmer’s face was still purple. “That kind of tomfoolery is how Thomas Becket ended up a martyr.”  
“I’ll take your word for it. Besides, it’s not like I could chop your head off even if I wanted to. Your hard-light drive is too strong.”  
“I’d rather not test the theory if it’s all the same to you.”  
“Then stop picking on me.”  
“Would you like me to have him removed from the chamber, your Highness?” Flaubèrt asked pointedly, clearly feeling that the bickering was becoming undignified.  
“No, he can stay,” Lister settled back in the flimsy chair and adjusted his raven. Incongruously, he felt a lot more cheerful. Having Rimmer around making bitchy comments made this whole experience feel less surreal somehow. “ _If_ he can manage to be civil.”  
“I’m not promising anything,” Rimmer grumbled, arms folded.

Lister finished up the photoshoot, ignoring the occasional quiet snickering from Rimmer when Nduba asked him to strike particularly daft poses. “Okay, last set now. Give me a sexy look!”  
“Sexy?” Lister asked blankly.  
“Yes, give me the royal smoulder.”  
“Erm...ok.”  
“No, no, no,” Rimmer piped up from across the room. “That’s terrible. You look constipated.”  
“I’m trying my best!”  
“Use your imagination. Pretend the camera’s that barmaid from the Copacabana.”  
“What barmaid?”  
“You know the one. With the red hair and the shoulder tattoo.”  
“Um...”  
“You used to give her the eye so she’d slip you free shots.”  
“Oh yeah!” Lister grinned, “I remember her!”  
“Well, do that look.”  
“I’m not sure I remember how to do that look. It was three million years ago! How do _you_ remember that look?”  
“Just do the look so we can wrap up this nonsense.”  
Lister closed his eyes, cast his mind back, then took a deep breath and did the look as best as he could. “Fabulous!” cried Nduba.  
“See, I was useful after all,” Rimmer said smugly. Lister gave him a bright sarcastic smile.

“Thank you for your time, Gianni.” Flaubèrt shook Nduba’s hand. “How soon can you have them ready?”  
“I can pick out ten of the best, get them touched up and sent to you today. If you’re happy, and his Highness too of course, then I can publish them on my blog tonight.”  
“Excellent.”  
Lister stood up and stretched, “What am I doing now?”  
“I need your approval on the designs for your bedchamber. Other than that, you’re free to do as you please,” Flaubèrt told him.  
Lister glanced out of the window, “I’d quite like to explore the gardens and the park. I haven’t been outside much yet.”  
“If you’d like some peace and quiet, there’s a private walled garden in the south-west corner. I can find the key for you. It’s probably a little overgrown but I imagine it will still be pleasant.”

Lister changed back into his blue suit and accompanied Flaubèrt to the office. He skimmed over the swatches and plans for the bedroom while Flaubèrt sent a colleague to find the garden key. He really wasn’t terribly interested in the interior decorating, and signed it off without paying much attention. Once he was finished, he ambled back to collect the others and the four of them headed out through the formal gardens into the park. They drew a few interested glances but no-one bothered them. It occurred to Lister that once those photos went out, and his face became well-known, such strolls would probably become out of the question. He resolved to enjoy it while it lasted, and it wasn’t hard.

He breathed in the scent of fresh air, moist earth and greenery. It felt oddly alien, and oddly homely all at the same time. “This is nice.”  
“It’s very pleasant,” Kryten agreed.  
“It’s great,” Cat also agreed, “but it kinda makes me feel weird.”  
“Weird how?” Rimmer asked.  
“These tall things. I feel like I wanna see what’s at the top of them.” Cat peered up into the branches of a tall oak.  
“Oh for smeg’s sake. You are _not_ climbing the trees.”  
“I don’t wanna climb the dumb tree. I just...” he looked up wistfully at the branches again, “...wonder what it would be like.”

They circled around, admiring the view of the palace, and as they headed back Lister spotted a gate near the rear entrance, almost cloaked with wisteria. “Hey, I think that’s it.” He unlocked it and they crept through. Lister had expected a small courtyard choked with weeds, with some space for a few potted plants; but this garden was big, probably twice the size of his gran’s old plot. The wisteria was running rampant along the old walls, and there were certainly weeds aplenty, but the outline of formal beds could still be seen along the edge of the ragged lawn. A disused pond with a non-functioning fountain sat in the middle of the garden, with paths leading away from it. In the far corner, a simple swing hung from the branches of an apple tree.  
“Well,” Rimmer sniffed, “this could use some work.”  
“I think it’s great,” Lister countered. He gave Kryten a nudge. “You always wanted a garden, right Krytes? Well, here it is.” He handed him the key.  
“Oh, but Sir, this is _your_ garden.”  
“Technically it’s all my garden, man. It’s my smegging palace. Let the gardeners do what they do out there. In here, you do what you want.”  
“I still can’t believe you have a palace.” Rimmer scuffed resentfully at the ground.  
“Are you _ever_ going to stop sulking about this?”  
“No.”  
“If it’ll make you feel better I can give you a knighthood, or a peerage or something. Once I’m king, that is.”  
“No.”  
“Are you sure? You don’t fancy being Sir Arnold? Or Lord Rimmer? Or whatever?”  
“No,” Rimmer said again. Then paused. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”  
“Knighthoods all round!” Lister proclaimed cheerfully, tucking his arm through Kryten’s.  
“I don’t want one if everyone’s getting one,” Rimmer protested. “Then it won’t be special.”  
“No pleasing you is there?”

After dinner that night, Flaubèrt stopped by Lister’s room to show him the images Gianni Nduba had forwarded him for approval. Lister was slightly relieved to see that the stuffed raven hadn’t made the cut. The pictures were actually quite impressive. “Happy, your Highness?”  
“Yeah, they’re pretty good, aren’t they?” Lister flicked through. “Hey, my sexy face made it in!”  
“The barmaid your friend spoke of must have been very memorable,” Flaubèrt remarked.  
“I suppose so.” Lister stared thoughtfully at a different image.

It was strange, but actually seeing himself next to the painting in these photos brought everything home to him in a way that just looking at it hadn’t. Suddenly, he could see what everyone else saw. Not just the strong resemblance to Brisäis, but also to Roderick; in the shape of his face and set of his shoulders. “Your Highness?”  
“It’s funny,” he said quietly. “I know it’s crazy but...looking at us all together, I could almost believe I’m really their son.”  
“Almost?” Flaubèrt asked with a smile.  
“Do _you_ believe it?” Lister asked sceptically.  
“Like I told you before, I’m not sure it really matters if you’re a pine or an oak. You’re related somehow, and that’s good enough for me.” He paused. “But for what it’s worth...Yes. I believe it. And judging by these pictures, I think a lot of other people will.” He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s time _you_ started believing it.”

He took the pictures back. “I shall tell Gianni to go ahead and publish the photos. Tomorrow we start planning in earnest for your first public appearance.”  
“Okay.”  
“Oh, and er...it’s probably nothing to worry about, but I thought you should know.”  
“Know what?”  
“Your friend Mr Cat is apparently stuck in a tree outside. The gardeners are fetching a ladder to get him down.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next few days, Lister spent some time with various ministers, drafting a speech to give at his inaugural appearance. The plan was that he would deliver it at the top of the palace steps, before descending to do some small talk and hand-shaking with the crowd. His nerves were jangling. He’d never done any public speaking before, and the biggest crowd he’d ever faced had been about fifty people in The Stag’s Head when performing with Smeg and The Heads. He didn’t even want to think how long ago that had been.

The speech itself was fairly short and sweet, and he was confident that with cue cards he could remember it all, but he was afraid of tripping over his words, or mumbling, or just looking plain terrified. Rimmer kept drilling him on speech exercises, getting him to recite tongue twisters over and over. “You need to enunciate, that’s all,” Rimmer kept saying to him. “Clear round tones. Full sounded-out vowels. Crisp consonants.”  
“This isn’t ‘My Fair Lady’! I still want to sound like me,” Lister protested, “I just want to sound clear.”  
“Then you need to focus on each word. You can’t be lazy and drop your H’s or soften your Th’s. Slow down and pronounce each word fully and cleanly. Do it again.”

The night before, Lister was particularly jittery. He got Cat to go through his outfit with him and set it out, so he would have more time in the morning to practice his speech. “What are you so worried about?” Cat said dismissively. “It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it if you start coughing or have a sneezing fit halfway through.”  
“Thanks. I hadn’t even _thought_ of that.”  
“Listen, buddy, the people out there don’t give a crap what you say, or how you say it, so long as it’s all sugar. You said it yourself, they don’t want you to lead, they just want you to look pretty.”  
“How do you know?”  
“You think I spend all my time hanging around in this building? There’s a whole world out there! With shops! And salons! And bars! And _chicks!_ I hear what the people are saying.”

Lister was mildly shocked by this revelation. Maybe he’d been too preoccupied with his current situation, or maybe after years of relative confinement it had simply become second nature to him to limit his movements to a fairly small radius, but the idea of just going out into the city had never occurred to him. He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed. “So, you’ve just been roaming around and going out bar-hopping without telling anyone?”  
“Nobody asked.”  
“Where are you getting the money from?”  
“Hey, I got a job these days, remember?”  
“The government are actually paying you to be my fashion advisor? I thought they just gave you the money for the fabric and stuff!”  
“Nope. I got the ching-ching.” Cat fished into his back pocket and flipped a gold coin at Lister, who caught it. “Keep it. I got lots.” Cat flashed a smug grin.

“Okay, Mr Moneybags. So what _are_ people saying?” Lister put the coin down on the dresser and folded his arms.  
“Mainly that they want a big party and a day off for the coronation.”  
“That’s it?”  
“You want my advice? Give ‘em what they want, buddy. Show them love and they’ll love you back.”  
“That’s...actually pretty good advice,” Lister told him, surprised.  
“Course it is. I’m a smart guy. Handsome too.”  
“I know, I know.” Lister paused for a moment as another thought hit him. “When you say bars...and chicks...Does that mean what I think it means?” Cat grinned and jiggled his eyebrows. “You’re not bringing girls back to the palace with you?”  
“Not _all_ of them.”  
“But you’re being careful, right?”  
“Sure. I keep an eye on ‘em.”  
“No, I mean, you’re using protection, aren’t you?”  
“I don’t need protection. I can fight them off if I have to.”  
“Cat,” Lister explained anxiously, “I’m talking about _sexual_ protection. Condoms, man.”  
“Con-doms?” Cat rolled the word around. “Never heard of them.”  
“Oh, heck. We need to talk.”

The next morning, Lister woke early after a fitful night’s sleep. He sat up in bed and took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes.” He slipped out of his room and across the wide landing to peek out of one of the windows that overlooked the front of the palace. Already there was a large crowd swelling behind the barriers, some of them waving flags. He gulped, and tiptoed to Rimmer’s room. He was still snoring in bed.

“Rimmer!” he sat on the edge of the mattress and poked him. “Rimmer, wake up.”  
“Mmm? Lister? What are you doing up? Is there a fire?”  
“No, but I can’t sleep.”  
“So I can’t either?”  
“Have you seen the crowd out there?”  
“I literally just woke up. You saw me do it. _No_ , I haven’t seen the crowd.”  
“Go look.”  
“What for?”  
“There’s so many of them.”  
“Of course there will be. Most of the city will be there, and half of the provinces. What did you expect? Do you want me to shoo them off?”  
“It’s just...it’s real now, man. I’ve got to go out there and talk to those people.”  
“Not for...” Rimmer checked his watch, “...another four hours. So smeg off and let me get some more shut eye.”  
“Okay, no need to be grouchy,” Lister said wounded, standing up. “I thought you’d be excited.”  
“Why would I be excited? They’re not here to see _me_.”  
“Oh, be like that then. Go back to sleep.”  
“No, you know what, it’s too late. I’m awake now. Congratulations. I’ll be grumpy all day.” Rimmer kicked off the covers, and went to look out of the same window Lister had.   
“Like anyone could tell the difference,” Lister muttered as he followed him.

They peeped out of the window side by side. “Well,” Rimmer said grudgingly, taking in the view, “that certainly is a significant number of people.”  
“Oh, there’ll be plenty more yet!” Kryten interrupted cheerfully, waddling down the corridor with Lister’s breakfast tray. “There are still people arriving from all over Arkeon. Many people slept outside the palace last night to get a good space. I took them some cocoa.”  
“It’s a bit early for brekkie, isn’t it?” Lister asked him.  
“I must admit I’m surprised to see you up and about already, but some of the ministers thought it would be best to get an early start, so there’s time to go through everything before we begin.”  
“That’s a good idea. There’s a couple of things I want to run past them anyway.”  
“Like what?” Rimmer demanded, “It’s a bit late to start mucking about going off-script now. They’ll have kittens.”  
“Hmmm. They’re probably not the only ones,” Lister said grimly, remembering his conversation with Cat the previous night.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Nothing. Look, it’s not a big deal, I’ve just had an idea, that’s all.”

Lister put on some of his ‘casual’ clothes and the three of them went down to his office, where Flaubèrt and several other ministers were gathered around waiting for him. “Ah,” he said cheerfully, “the table arrived.”  
“Yes, your Highness. A round one, as requested.”  
“Requested? You _asked_ for a round table?” Rimmer trilled in amusement.  
“What?” Lister replied innocently. “It fits the space better.”  
“Riiiight.”  
“Anyway,” Lister took a seat, “we have business to discuss. I wanted to add something to my speech, if it’s okay with all of you.”  
“Really, your Highness? At this late stage? Are you sure that’s wise?”  
“I’m not talking paragraphs here. But if it has your approval, I’d like to announce the coronation as a public holiday.”

The ministers exchanged shrugs and Flaubèrt nodded. “I have no objection to that.”  
“Brutal. That ties in with my second idea. Everyone’s gonna want to see the coronation, right? But not everyone can get in. The great hall is big, but not big enough for the whole city, let alone the whole planet.”  
“Indeed. The plan is to offer citizens a ticket lottery for the event.”  
“So...” Lister drummed his fingers excitedly on the table, “how about we double their chances of winning? After the ceremony is over, we clear the hall of all the chairs and throw a party. A proper royal ball. The place will already be decorated, so it’s not really much more work.”  
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” one of the ministers said, after a pause for thought.  
“Obviously the ticket lottery will take some organising if it’s for two events rather than one, but the public will lap it up,” another agreed.  
“And we’ll already have musicians for the ceremony. We can easily sort out drinks and canapés. We may need to hire some extra toilets...”  
“I think that’s a ‘yes’, your Highness,” Flaubèrt smiled. “An excellent suggestion. Let’s just figure out how we’ll add it into your speech.”

After a final draft was polished up and Lister had performed a few practice read-throughs, he went to get changed. Cat had chosen his outfit carefully. “The photoshoot was about introducing the prince,” he’d explained. “Tomorrow is about meeting the man. Nothing too elaborate. We need you to look elegant, but approachable. Soft textures, warm colours.” They’d settled on a pair of soft grey fitted trousers with a white shirt and a paisley waistcoat in dusty lavender, with a silvery grey satin tie and plain black shoes. While Kryten fiddled with his cuff links, Cat plaited his locks into a semi-sensible braid. Rimmer paced around anxiously, occasionally crossing the hall to check on the crowd. “Will you stop it?” Lister said eventually, “You’re just making me more nervous.”  
“I can’t help it.”  
“I thought you didn’t care, seeing as they’re not here to see _you_ ,” Lister reminded him bitterly, “It’s not like you’re the one giving a speech.”  
“No, but I have to watch you do it. That’s still stressful.”  
“Will you just sit down?” Lister rummaged through the myriad lotions and potions on the dresser, looking for some cologne. The gold coin Cat had given him fell to the floor and he picked it up and popped it absent-mindedly into his back pocket. “Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got this,” he said, more to himself than to Rimmer. He picked up a bottle. Cat shook his head, took it out of his hand and chose a different one, then spritzed him with it liberally.

Lister looked at himself in the mirror, squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and took a deep breath. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got no idea who that guy is, but he looks sharp.”  
“ _Yeah_ , he does,” Cat beamed proudly.  
“You look every inch royalty, Sir.”  
“Although, to be fair, there’s not many inches to consider,” Rimmer sniped.  
“Come on, Rimsy. Even you have to admit I look good,” Lister grinned.  
“At least you don’t look like the saddest entry in a Lord Byron lookalike contest this time.”  
“Really? That’s all you’re gonna give me?”  
“Compared to your normal attire, it’s certainly a great improvement.”  
“Buddy, a fresh bin bag would have been an improvement on his normal attire. You can do better than that,” Cat complained.  
“Fine.” Rimmer folded his arms awkwardly. “You look _nice_.”  
“Was that so hard?”  
“Yes.”  
“Come on,” Lister said eagerly, buoyed up by the praise. “Let’s go greet my subjects.”

They gathered with the ministers by the front doors of the palace. Lister could hear the hum of the crowd outside. He started to get goosebumps. “Everyone ready?” he asked.  
“I think so, your Highness. Are you?” Flaubèrt smiled encouragingly.  
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do it.”

The security guards pulled back the double doors, and Prince David of Arkeon walked out into the sunlight to greet his people.

The roar of the crowd thundered in his chest as he walked to the lectern with Flaubèrt. He saw rows and rows of blue and scarlet flags embossed with the ouroboros crest swaying back and forth like a great wave. He tried to remember to breathe.

Flaubèrt gave him the briefest of introductions; “Good people of Arkeon, without further ado I hand you over to the man you are all here to see. The man we have waited millions of years for, to restore our throne, our monarchy, and bring our glorious past back to the present. I give you His Royal Highness, Prince David!”

The crowd erupted into cheers as Lister stepped up to the microphone. “Smile,” Flaubèrt reminded him gently. Lister cast one last look back over his shoulder at the posse. Kryten and Cat beamed maniacally and gave him the ‘Boys From The Dwarf’ shake. Rimmer stared back at him with wide frantic eyes and mouthed “Enunciate!” The sight of them was all Lister needed to bring forth a genuine smile. He looked out into the crowd, and began to speak.

He took his time. He was clear and focused. He enunciated. When he announced the holiday for the coronation, the crowd cheered. When he announced the royal ball they ‘ooohed’ and ‘aaahed’. And when he was finished, he bowed down to rapturous applause.

Flaubèrt and the security team shepherded him down the steps to the crowd barriers and suddenly there were hundreds of hands reaching for him, a dizzying parade of faces passing by one after the other. He smiled and waved, and tried his best to be what they wanted; Prince Charming. “Hello. Hi. Thank you for coming. So nice to see you. That’s a nice hat. Have you been waiting long? Thank you. Thank you.”

Eventually a hand on his elbow steered him away and back to the steps. “Are we done?” he asked, dazed.  
“That will do for now,” Flaubèrt confirmed. “You’ve done marvellously well, but you’re starting to look weary. Let’s regroup back at your office and we can go over all of the....”  
Lister didn’t hear the rest, distracted by a sound behind them. Barely audible over the noise of the crowd, he could hear crying. He looked around and spotted a lost little boy being jostled against the barrier by the oblivious masses. He was wailing in panic, tears streaming down his face. Lister dashed forward without thinking. “Hey! Hey, there’s a little kid down there! Move back, give him some space!”

As the crowd parted, Lister reached over the barrier and scooped the boy up into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”  
“I...can’t...find...my...mummy!” He hiccuped out, overwhelmed, clinging to Lister’s shoulder.  
“It’s okay,” Lister soothed, relieved the boy didn’t seem to be injured. “She’s here somewhere. She just couldn’t see you down there, that’s all. We just need to get you up a bit higher, and I know just the place.” He jogged back up the steps with the boy in his arms. “What’s your name?”  
“Finn.”  
“Okay then.” He went back to the microphone. “Everybody? Can you look around you for Finn’s mum, please, and help her get up here? I think he’s a bit worried about her.”

Within a minute, a woman emerged from the crowd, waving frantically. The security guards helped her over the barrier and she flew up the steps, weeping. “Mamma!”   
“Oh my goodness! Oh, Finn, I _told_ you to keep hold of my hand!” Lister carefully placed the boy into his mother’s arms and she clutched him gratefully. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!” Suddenly remembering where she was, she gazed awestruck at Lister over the boy’s head. “Your Highness,” she bobbed a curtsy, “how can I ever thank you?”  
“Hey, no bother,” he smiled and ruffled Finn’s hair. “Kids will be kids. I’m just glad he’s okay.”  
“Finn, you must thank His Highness.”   
Shy now, he peeped up from his mother’s shoulder, “‘ank you.”  
“You’re welcome, mate. Here,” Lister dug into his back pocket and pulled out the coin he’d tucked there earlier. He placed it in the boy’s tiny hand. “Don’t spend it all at once.”  
His mother gasped, wide-eyed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Lister waved to them as the security team ushered him away, back to the palace. When the doors finally closed behind him, he sagged with relief. It felt simultaneously as if the whole event had taken both moments and a year. “Phew. That was intense.”  
“Well done, Sir. You were magnificent.” Kryten applauded.  
“You reckon?”  
“I think we can safely say that as far as PR goes, that was a roaring success.” Flaubèrt confirmed cheerfully. “Rushing to the aid of a small child in distress? There’s nothing we could have planned that would top that.”  
“I didn’t do it for publicity!”  
“Of course not. But the public saw, and they will remember it. This is the sort of moment that goes down in history. It was very generous of you, by the way, to give them all that money as well.”  
“It was only one coin. I just thought I was giving him the equivalent of a quid for some sweets,” Lister admitted.  
“One of those coins would equate to roughly a weeks’ wages in some parts of Arkeon.”  
“Really? That’s a lot of sweets. Well, if they don’t like me after that then there’s no hope.”  
“Quite so.”

“Trust you to go flying off into the crowd on some hare-brained mission,” Rimmer scolded, “What if you’d been attacked?”  
“By a lost four year old?”  
“By anyone! You should have sent security to deal with it!”  
“I didn’t have time to think about it. He needed help.”  
“You _need_ to think about these things now. There could be anyone in that mob! It’s dangerous.”  
“Aw. Were you worried about me?” Lister teased, touched.  
“Hardly.” Rimmer rolled his eyes. “But I’m getting used to living here and I don’t want you screwing it up by getting assassinated.”  
“Nice. At least tell me I delivered the speech to your standards.”  
“It was fine.”  
Lister rolled his eyes, “High praise indeed.”

He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “So then. My first public engagement is done. Now we start planning the _big_ party, right?”  
“You mean your coronation?” Rimmer said disapprovingly.  
“ _No_. Flaubèrt’s planning that shindig. I’m talking about the ball, man!”  
“I should have known.”  
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Lister shimmied away with a grin, “I don’t know much, but one thing I _do_ know is how to throw a goooood time.”


	9. Chapter 9

With the coronation rapidly approaching, most of Lister’s time was taken up with meetings, rehearsals and planning. Combined with the preparations for the ball, he was actually finding it all rather tiring. Some days it felt suspiciously close to work. Two days before the coronation, he went back to his room for an afternoon nap and found much of the furniture had been moved out into the hallway, and the bedroom itself swarming with decorators. He had known vaguely that they were coming after they’d finished work on the grand chamber, but hadn’t concerned himself with the details. He pretended he’d come to check on their progress, nodded sagely when they told him they should be in and out within the day, then sloped off again wondering where else he might be able to sneak in a snooze.

The answer was: nowhere. Everywhere he went, people wanted something. A signature, an opinion, a chat about the weather. Lister wasn’t used to it. He’d grown accustomed over the years to having his own space, and more or less doing as he pleased. Much as he’d originally feared, having duties and responsibilities was proving to be trying.

At the end of a long day he’d returned to his bedchamber to find it transformed. The scuffed floorboards had been sanded and polished to a shine, and covered with opulent rugs. A shimmering gold-patterned paper covered the walls. The ceilings and skirting had been painted, and velvet drapes framed the large windows. A gold chandelier hung from the centre of the room.  
His narrow squeaky bed had been replaced with a gigantic wooden four-poster covered in cushions and throws. The bathroom had been refitted with a white marble four piece suite.

He got ready for bed, tossed the multitude of cushions onto the floor, and burrowed under the covers; and then lay on the silk sheets with his eyes wide open.

He couldn’t sleep. Despite how tired he was, a lurking sense of unease kept him from drifting off. Up until now, playing at being royalty during the day had been easy enough. Okay, it was more work than he’d anticipated, but he felt like he was coping. But at night, coming back to his plain unassuming room had kept him feeling grounded. It was a reminder that he was Dave Lister, who’d stepped into this life off a battered old ship called Starbug, and the only reason he was here at all was because of a faulty sewage pump. Now all that had been swept away. This room very much belonged to Prince David of Arkeon, and Lister wasn’t 100% sure who that guy was yet. His stomach pulled into a tight knot as he remembered that in 48 hours he wasn’t even going to be Prince David anymore. He was going to be King David The First.

After a while, he gave up and headed down the hallway to the one place where he thought he might feel like himself again.

“Hey,” he crawled into bed beside Rimmer. “Budge up.”  
“Lister, what the smeg are you doing?!”  
“They redecorated my room today. It still smells of fresh paint and varnish, and it’s giving me a headache,” he lied.  
“So go sleep in another room.”  
“That’s what I’m doing.”  
“An _empty_ room.”  
“I’m too tired to make another bed up.”  
“Why can’t you share with Cat?”  
“Oh, yeah, right. Like he’d let me do that.”  
“What makes you think _I’m_ going to let you?” Rimmer asked indignantly.  
“The fact I’ve already taken half the covers and nicked one of your pillows, and you haven’t done anything about it.” Lister snuggled down smugly.  
“Look you can’t just barge in here and steal half of my bed.”  
“Can and have. Call it Royal Prerogative.”  
“Don’t you play the royalty card with me, miladdo.”  
“Too late. If you throw me out I’m declaring it an act of treason.”  
“Oh, for smeg’s sake.”  
“If it bothers you that much, _you_ go sleep in my room.”  
“I don’t want to sleep in your room. I want to sleep in my own room, in my own bed.”  
“Then pipe down and get on with it.” Lister rolled over and closed his eyes. Rimmer muttered something about the peasants revolting, then turned the light off and lay down beside him.

In the darkness, Lister smiled contentedly as he fell asleep.

He was somewhere between awake and dreaming when he imagined the warmth of an arm around him. He stirred and moved to cuddle into it, then was half-blinded as Rimmer suddenly pulled back the curtains to let the light in. “Aargh!”  
“Rise and shine!” Rimmer said briskly.  
“How’d you get over there so fast?” Lister yawned blearily.  
“What do you mean? I’ve been up for ages,” Rimmer insisted primly.  
“I thought...Never mind. I must have been dreaming.” He slumped back into the pillow. “It can’t be morning already! I only just closed my eyes!”  
“You were sleeping like a log all night. You weren’t even snoring. I had to check you were still alive a few times. Were you really that tired?”  
“I s’pose I must have been,” he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Or maybe your bed is just comfier than mine.”  
“Well, don’t get used to it. In fact, you can get out of it right now. You have a lot to do today.”  
“I know, I know.”

He went back to his own room to get dressed. Rimmer was right about one thing, he couldn’t make a habit of sleeping in his bed. He needed to come to terms with his new life. Tomorrow he was going to be crowned as king; and kings slept in rooms like this. That was all there was to it.

He was undergoing the final fitting of his ceremonial robes in his office later that day when Flaubèrt joined them, carrying an armful of small boxes. “Is everything to your liking, your Highness?”  
“I suppose so,” Lister said nervously as Cat fussed around him. “But can I get someone to carry the end of my cloak during the procession? I’m paranoid it’s going to get caught on something and yank me over backwards.”  
“I’ll do it,” Cat said firmly. “I didn’t hand-stitch this thing for just anyone to put their paws all over it.”  
“Very well,” Flaubèrt agreed.  
“Good idea,” Rimmer chipped in. “Then if you fall forwards, he might still have a chance of keeping you upright too.”   
“Thanks,” Lister said sarcastically.  
“Sorry, am I a tad grouchy? Anyone would think I’d had a bad night’s sleep.”  
“Oh, stop going on about it,” Lister swiftly changed the subject, embarrassed. He didn’t want it broadcast that he’d spent the night in Rimmer’s bed. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now, in case you were forgetting.”

Flaubèrt set the boxes down on the round table and began to open them. “I thought it might be a good idea to give the crown jewels a test run before the ceremony. We don’t want the crown slipping down over your eyes if it’s too big, do we?”  
“It’s too late to make another one if it is.”  
“We can pad it if necessary.”

He unwrapped a simple glittering circlet and carried it over, “This is what you’ll wear for the first part of the ceremony.” He placed it on Lister’s head, where it sat neatly.  
“That fits okay.” Lister admired it in the mirror. “It’s a shame the museum visitors won’t get to see all these today.”  
“Oh, these aren’t the museum pieces. These are genuine jewels we’ve had remade for the ceremony. There’s a small fortune in diamonds on your head right now, your Highness.”  
“Really? Holy smeg!” Lister’s eyes widened. “The fanciest thing I’ve ever had before was a gold tooth filling.”  
“You’d better be careful with this stuff,” Rimmer ordered anxiously, “Don’t lose anything!”  
“Lose it? How am I supposed to lose it? It’s on my head!”  
“Just be careful!”

Flaubèrt took the circlet and put it back in its box, then opened the largest one and lifted out the golden crown. He carried it over and lowered it reverentially onto Lister’s head. There was a brief moment of silence as Lister gazed into the mirror, and everyone in the room gazed at him. “A perfect fit,” Flaubèrt said softly. Lister stared at his reflection; the exquisitely tailored burgundy velvet jacket and breeches with fine silver embroidery and matching shoes; the white silk shirt and stockings; the cathedral length cloak with white fur trim; the intricate golden crown laden with glimmering jewels. He was overcome with a powerful sense of dissociation, like he was staring into a parallel universe.

“It suits you,” Flaubèrt told him gently, maybe seeing the sudden doubt in his face.  
“It doesn’t seem real,” Lister stammered out. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up.”  
“I brought you one more thing,” Flaubèrt said, picking up the smallest box - a tiny one - and opening it for him. “It’s not strictly for the ceremony, but I thought you should have it.”

Lister peered inside. Nestled in the box was the ouroboros ring he recognised from the museum. A golden snake with sapphire eyes and delicate ruby scales down the centre of its back from head to tail. He managed a small smile. “That was kind of you. But it probably won’t fit me. I’ve got super chubby fingers, man.” He reached for it and eased it tentatively onto the third finger of his right hand. It slipped on neatly. Flaubèrt smiled. “It appears your father did too.”  
Lister felt a pang in his chest. He still wasn’t sure...still couldn’t quite believe it... but the words still triggered an unexpected wave of emotion. Flaubèrt noticed. “Forgive me, your Highness, but did you ever find the time to finish the VR walkthrough of the Great Palace of Proteus?” he asked politely.  
“No.”  
“I would strongly recommend it,” he advised with a meaningful look. He carefully plucked the crown from Lister’s head. “I’ll leave you to finish up here. Just think, the next time you put this on, you will officially be the king.”  
“Brutal,” Lister said weakly.

He waited until the early evening, after the visitors had all gone, before venturing down to the museum. He slipped on a headset and wandered alone through the extraordinary halls of the Great Palace. Somehow, doing it by himself made the place seem even bigger, if that was possible. This time, rather than entering the throne room, he passed by and went in the other direction. He made his way through a number of other rooms, including a music room with an enormous and beautiful piano. Eventually he found himself in a relatively small drawing room. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared.

Across the room, King Roderick and Queen Brisäis were sitting on one of the couches, chatting with two young women - perhaps ladies maids or courtiers. The king was wearing a pale grey informal morning suit, the queen was wearing a pretty peach-coloured tea dress. On her lap, she was holding a small baby. Lister gulped.

They looked up with welcoming smiles and his heart jolted, until he remembered that they were greeting the person who had captured this moment, not him. He was a ghost here, a living spirit hovering in a previous world. Nonetheless, he tiptoed towards them as if they might flee if disturbed, and sat down cross-legged at their feet.

He couldn’t take his eyes off them. The static image of their portrait had haunted him for weeks; to see them now as living breathing people, to hear their voices as if they were truly here in the room with him, gave him goosebumps. Their facial expressions, their gestures, every little thing they did carried an echo of familiarity. The baby started squirming, and Brisäis bounced him gently on her lap. “What’s the matter, Jules?” she cooed, “Are you bored?” Roderick reached over and gently stroked the baby’s cheek. The ring on his finger glinted and Lister looked down at the identical ring on his own hand. The baby started to whimper and Brisäis lifted him up so they were eye to eye. “What does my little prince want?” she asked. Lister drew in a sharp breath. On the back of Prince Julius’ left knee was a small red patch of eczema.

Lister recognised it. He had put up with that irritating itch behind his left knee on and off until he was around nine years old. _It’s true. It’s all true._

Shaken, he reached up as if to put a hand on Brisäis’ knee. He was filled with a powerful aching longing to make contact with her; with both of them. He wanted them to see him, to know he was there watching. _Mum. Dad. I’m here. I’m home._

But as he reached out, the simulation faded away and he was suddenly in the garden, sitting on the ground outside the orangery. The palace portion of the tour was over. Dejected, he clapped his hands and exited the game.

Back in Zenito, the sun was just setting. Busy workers were putting together the last touches for the festivities, stringing lights and bunting around the halls and grounds. As before, dedicated crowds had already started to gather around the palace steps. There were people everywhere. And Lister just wanted to be alone.

He fled outside and tried the gate to Kryten’s secret garden. It was open, he must have been working in there earlier. Lister breathed in the fragrant floral-scented seclusion with relief, and went to sit on the swing. His hands were shaking. He closed his eyes and saw them again on that couch, so close and yet so far. He saw the love in their faces as they looked upon little Julius, on _him_.

_My little prince..._

And he started to cry.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

“There you are!” Lister looked up as Rimmer came through the gate, ducking under the low-hanging wisteria. “What are you doing out here? You skipped dinner, we were starting to think you’d freaked out and done a runner.” Rimmer squinted at him more closely. “Are you _crying_?”  
“I went back through the Proteus VR,” Lister explained, wiping his cheeks. “I saw them; the king and queen. They are my parents. I’m sure of it now.”  
“Is it really that much of a shock?” Rimmer asked, “The rest of us have been pretty well working under that assumption since we got here. The painting...”  
“I know. But that painting is just a picture. This was different. It felt real.” He looked down at the ring on his finger. “And it hurt.”  
“Don’t upset yourself over it. There’s no point getting too caught up in sentiment,” Rimmer advised. “Family isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”  
“It’s different for you. Your family were jerks.”  
“How do you know yours weren’t? They might have been arseholes if you’d got to know them.”  
“I don’t think so. You didn’t see them, man. They loved that baby. They loved _me_.” He corrected himself, swallowing hard.  
“It’s easy to love babies. They’re rarely a disappointment. _Children_ on the other hand...”  
Lister shook his head, “You’re messed up, you know that?”  
“I’m aware.”

“I just...It makes me feel different about all this.” Lister pensively stroked the snake’s head.  
“Why? You were going to go ahead and take the throne anyway. What difference does it make?”  
“It shouldn’t make any difference,” Lister admitted. “You’d think this would _help_ , make me feel less like an imposter. But...before I was just a random guy doing his best to step into a job he wasn’t prepared for. My gran would have been proud of me doing this no matter what, but now...I feel like the stakes just got a smegload higher. If I mess up now, I’m not just disappointing everyone here, I’m disappointing _them_.” He looked nervously up at the sky. “Bringing shame on my family.”  
Rimmer shrugged. “So what?”  
“What do you mean ‘so what’?”  
“It’s a sucky feeling but you learn to live with it,” Rimmer told him dryly. “Trust me.”

Lister sighed heavily, climbed off the swing and went to sit by the edge of the pond. At some point, Kryten had fixed the fountain and it splashed soothingly. “I know it’s pointless, but I can’t help but wonder how it would have been if things had gone differently. If the war had never happened. I mean, you saw that place, it was unbelievable. The wealth, the splendour. Who would I have been if I’d grown up there as Prince Julius?”  
“An insufferable brat, no doubt.” Rimmer sat down beside him.  
“As opposed to?” Lister grinned.  
“Just insufferable.”  
“You think you know who you are, what makes you _you_ ; but do any of us really know?” Lister mused. “It freaks me out to think I could have been a whole different person.”  
“Yes,” Rimmer rolled his eyes, “Imagine what that must feel like.”  
“At least you and Ace shared the same life for a few years. You had some shared experiences you could remember. Me and Julius, not so much.”  
“Well, he was probably a spoilt arrogant jerk. At least you can be fairly sure that you’re the good version of you. Unlike _some_ of us.” Rimmer pointed out bitterly.  
“Not necessarily. Julius might have been a dashing hero with a heart of gold. A proper Disney prince beloved by all. A guy who deserved to be a king. ” Lister trailed one hand in the water. “A guy I could never hope to compare to.”

Rimmer frowned, concerned. “Are you really having second thoughts?”  
“Second, third and fourth.”  
“You can’t run away from this now,” Rimmer told him sternly.  
“Isn’t running away from stuff normally your go to response?” Lister raised an eyebrow.  
“This is different.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you’re not me. And I know that you can do this. Everyone knows it except you. You were born for this, Lister.”  
“You know I don’t believe in all that ‘it’s in the blood’ nonsense.”  
“I’m not talking about your blood. I’m not talking about the portrait, or the ouroboros, or Prince Julius. I’m talking about _you_.”  
Lister glanced at him dubiously. “Seriously?”  
“Yes.” Rimmer looked away, embarrassed. He gestured inelegantly; trying to explain himself; “People like you. You care about stuff. You can even be quite clever sometimes.”  
“Sometimes?”  
“The ball was a good idea. It’s crowd-pleasing and it will make people feel part of the event. It’s including them in your big day. They’ll love you for that.”  
“Cat gave me the idea.”  
“But you’re the one who ran with it. And that lost boy in the crowd, you ran to him without a second thought.”  
“Anyone would have done that.”  
“No, Lister, they wouldn’t. And you didn’t just help him, you tried to make him feel better. You gave him something to cheer him up and stop him crying.”  
“I didn’t know how much that coin was worth.”  
“But even if you had, you’d have given it to him anyway. Because it meant nothing to you, but you knew it would mean something to him and his mother.”  
Lister pondered this, “Yeah,” he admitted. I guess I would’ve.”   
“There you go. It causes me actual physical pain to say this but...” Rimmer screwed up his face, “...you are _good_ at this. There. I said it. You will be a good king.”  
“Thanks,” Lister said, surprised and genuinely touched. “I needed to hear that.”  
“Everyone’s been telling you that for weeks.”  
“I guess I needed to hear it from you.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I _know_ it causes you physical pain to say it,” Lister gave him a knowing smile, “So I know you wouldn’t say it unless you really meant it.”

They watched the fountain bubble. A few fireflies danced in the twilight. “Can I tell you a secret?” Lister looked up shyly. “I didn’t crash in your room last night because of the paint smell. I did it because I was scared. Everything was starting to get a bit too real, and I wanted it to feel like old times again.”  
“Are you telling me I spent all night wrestling for the duvet because you had an attack of the woobies?”  
“Basically, yeah.”  
“You git.”  
“Come on, you should be flattered.”  
“That I’m your comfort blanket?”  
“What? You’ve never had the urge to climb into _my_ bed?” Lister teased.  
To his surprise, Rimmer blushed. “I’ve got enough self-control that I’ve never _acted_ on it.”  
Lister leaned against him, “Listen, whatever happens I’m still going to need a comfort blanket, you know,” he said. “To have my back.” He gently nudged Rimmer in the ribs. “Keep me grounded.”  
“I can do that.”  
“That’s my biggest fear, you know. Turning into a massive twat who always gets his own way.”  
“I promise I will always tell you if you’re being a massive twat. Especially now I know you can’t have me beheaded.”  
Lister snickered naughtily, “Not even a dungeon in this place. Very disappointing.”  
“You say disappointing, I say reassuring.”  
“How am I supposed to strike fear into my enemies?”  
“You could try weaponising your socks.”

Lister looked up at the purple-blue sky. He took a deep breath. “Once I do this, there’s no going back,” he said, almost to himself.  
“No,” Rimmer agreed. “Even when you take the crown off it stays on. But like I said, you’re going to be fine. You’re kind, and you’re generous, and you fight for what you believe in. You’re already everything a king should be.”  
Lister put his head on his shoulder fondly. “Thank you. Remind me of that tomorrow when I’m about to take the long walk to the throne.”  
“I’ll be in my seat, you’ll just have to remember it. Besides, I’m not saying it again. The crown won’t fit over your big head.”  
“Smeghead.” Lister tilted his face up with a smile. “You’re with me in this mess then?”  
“Yes. I’m with you.”  
“I’m glad.” He gave him another playful nudge. “Hey. For what it’s worth, you can climb into my bed any time.” For the briefest moment, he saw a look on Rimmer’s face he didn’t understand.  
Then suddenly Rimmer’s lips were on his.

It took him a second to process, and then the realisation arrived in his brain as cleanly and clearly as it had earlier when looking at his family; that same sense of a puzzle falling into place, of something misty coming into sharp focus, a painting becoming a reality. _Of course._ Suddenly a million looks and comments and moments made perfect sense. He closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss.

When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t sure how much later, it was nearly full dark, his lips were swollen, and his cock was aching. They stared at each other, both unsure what to say. But it only took Lister a second to decide what to say. “My room,” he whispered.

They darted up the back stairs of the palace unseen. Lister slammed the bedroom door and locked it, and they faced each other in the moonlight. His words in the garden came back to him. _Once I do this there’s no going back_. Only this time, they held no fear.

Time passed in flashes like a strobe light. All at once he was naked without remembering shedding his clothes; next thing he knew they were tangled on the bed, writhing against one another on the pristine silk sheets that had never been slept on. With every blink, every gasp, he was transported to a new moment of elation as this thing happened between them, this thing he’d never seen coming and now all of a sudden didn’t understand how he’d lived without. They were locked together, skin to skin, moving in a blissful rhythm it felt like they’d been practicing for years, as he thrust into Rimmer’s strong hand and Rimmer pumped eagerly into his. Orgasm came swiftly, almost too swiftly, too intensely to bear. And then they lay breathless and speechless in each other’s arms, wondering how they’d got from there to here in what felt like the blink of an eye. And then, after a few minutes, they did it again. Slower this time. Drawing it out breath by breath to the last heart-stopping moment when Lister grabbed blindly for a pillow to pull over his face, to scream into as he came yet again, even harder than before.

Sleep came almost at once, like he’d been drugged. But he had time to think to himself as everything went dark, that he knew himself more completely today than he ever had before in his life.

  
He was dragged out of sleep by a pounding at the door. He sat up like a zombie, blinking slowly as the world came into focus. It revealed a naked Rimmer sitting up beside him in bed. They looked at each other nervously, neither of them sure what to do or say. The door shook again with three powerful knocks, followed by Kryten bellowing. “Sir! Wake up, you’ve overslept! Your coronation begins in two hours, you need to get ready!”

The shared look quickly flipped from shy awkwardness to wide-eyed panic, and they both sprang into action. Rimmer leapt out of the bed and scampered into the bathroom to hide. Lister scrabbled out from under the covers as Kryten banged on the door again. “I’m awake! I’m awake!” he yelled out. “I’m just...putting my dressing gown on!” He grabbed it off the chair and slid his arms in, quickly pushing Rimmer’s clothes under the bed with one foot at the same time. He tied the gown closed as he stumbled to the door to unlock it. “Hi Kryters,” he said innocently.  
“Sir, why was your door locked?” Kryten hurried in with a breakfast tray.  
“Well, you know, big day ahead. Wanted my beauty sleep, didn’t I? No disturbances.”   
“We’re totally behind schedule now! Mister Rimmer was supposed to wake you up while I made your breakfast! Where could he be?”  
“I’m sure he’s...around the place,” Lister said nonchalantly.  
“Oh, I knew he couldn’t be trusted with such an important task!”  
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Lister said meekly. “He wouldn’t have just forgotten something so important.”  
“Sir, this is Mister Rimmer we’re talking about. The man’s less use than an Ikea instruction leaflet.”  
“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Lister said desperately. “Let’s just move on, shall we?”  
“You’re right. Oh dear, I’ve gotten you all stressed now. Let me run you a nice hot bath,” Kryten waddled towards the bathroom.  
“NO!” Lister dived in front of him. “No, no! No time for that.” He guided Kryten back towards the bedroom door. “I need you to go and find Cat, and send him up here. In the meantime, I will quickly eat this lovely breakfast you’ve made, and have a shower. How about that?”  
“Yes, Sir. Of course. That’s a much better idea.”  
“Okay, off you go then.”  
“I’m on my way now, Sir, to find Mister Cat and send him up.”  
“Great, thank you.”  
“I’ll be as quick as I can.”  
“Fabulous.”  
“Don’t worry about a thing. Everything’s going to be just fine.”  
“Superb,” Lister trilled with a manic smile, pushing him out the door and slamming it behind him.

He put his hands over his face. “Oh smeeeeeeg.”  
“Is he gone?” Rimmer peeked around the bathroom door.  
“Yeah. But we have to hurry, he’ll be back with Cat any minute!” Lister dug Rimmer’s clothes back out from under the bed and tossed them at him, then started to speed-eat his toast, staring anxiously at the clock.  
“Ikea instruction leaflet indeed,” Rimmer sniffed, pulling his clothes on. “That jumped up droid has some nerve.”  
“He’s just stressed. We’re all stressed. It’s a big day. A big important day that I had in no way totally forgotten about until five minutes ago.” Lister necked an espresso.  
“You probably shouldn’t have that,” Rimmer said, “It’ll make you jittery.”  
Lister fixed him with a glare, “Really? _Really_? The _coffee_ will make me jittery?”  
“It won’t _help_.”  
“Well, it’s too late now! I’ve drunk it! The coffee is drunk, I’m being crowned as king in less than two hours, and we had sex last night! I am officially jittery!” He clutched at his chest, panting. “Oh god. I’m freaking out. Where are the worry balls?”  
“I’ll go and get them. Just calm down.” Rimmer backed away, hands held up soothingly, “Eat your breakfast. Everything’s going to be okay.”   
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Lister repeated breathlessly, “Everything’s going to be okay.”  
“Let’s maybe worry about the sex after the coronation is out of the way.”  
“Yes. Good plan.”  
“One thing at a time.”  
“One thing at a time.” Lister agreed, starting to calm slightly.

Cat flounced in with an enormous grin. “Wow. Have you guys seen the crowd out there? It’s insane! The whole _planet_ is going to be watching you.”  
Lister gripped the coffee cup, his knuckles white with tension. “Rimmer,” he said stiffly, “Get. The. Worry. Balls. _Now_.”


	11. Chapter 11

In some ways, the resulting panic as everyone pulled out the stops to get Lister ready turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He had next to no time to feel nervous or to think too much about either the previous night, or the long stressful day ahead. First, he had to attend parliament to officialise his position. Once the government had officially recognised him as king, there would be a formal procession down the palace steps, around the outside of the building through the gardens, and then back into the palace through the rear doors of the grand chamber for the coronation ceremony. This would be followed by a final procession back to the front of the palace, where he would stop for a last wave to the crowds and the press before presiding over his first Royal Banquet. After that, he would retire to his room to rest and change before the ball started at 8pm.

Cat, of course, was already splendidly dressed in his own outfit for the occasion - a dark blue velvet tunic embroidered with a golden ouroboros crest - and the first thing he did was chase Rimmer out of the room to go and get changed while he and Kryten dressed Lister. Lister wriggled into his own rococo-styled costume, grateful for the trial run the day before. Cat skillfully wove silver thread through his locks and twisted them up into a neat bun, while Kryten brushed non-existent dust from his clothes. “Okay, am I done? Am I done?” Lister spun impatiently in front of the mirror.  
“You’re done, buddy.”  
“Oh, Sir. You look so handsome...” Kryten started to sniffle.  
“No time for that!” Lister marched to the door. “I need to get downstairs. Now, now, now. Come on!”

The three of them scampered down the hall, heading to the government chamber where the initial legal part of the coronation would take place. After a few steps, Lister slowed down as he realised that running in heels, even sturdy low ones, was a talent he did not possess. Rather than risk limping through the procession, he settled for a brisk walk.

Flaubèrt was waiting outside the chamber in his own ceremonial robes. “Ah, there you are.”  
“I’m sorry! Am I really late?” Lister tried not to show how flustered he was, and failed.  
“No, you’re fine. We aren’t behind schedule. Either way, it’s not like we can start without you.”  
“Okay. Good. Great.” Lister let out a sigh of relief. Cat attentively dabbed the nervous sweat from his brow.  
“Are you ready?” Flaubèrt asked, after giving him a minute to compose himself.  
Lister swallowed hard, “Yeah. I think so.”  
“Then shall we?” Flaubèrt opened the doors and they headed into the chamber.

The assembled ministers stood as they entered, conversations fading to a soft murmur, and then to silence. Lister looked around at the sea of blue velvet robes and serious faces. Standing out in the front row, he saw Rimmer in his white dress uniform. He gave Lister a nervous smile and a wave, then remembering the solemnity of the occasion quickly put his hands behind his back and assumed a more serious expression. Cat and Kryten went to stand beside him.

Flaubèrt walked ahead to stand next to the Chamberlain, who was wearing a large floppy peacock-feathered ceremonial hat in addition to her robes. Lister took his place before them, strangely calm. He’d rehearsed this plenty of times, and this chamber was comparatively small and quiet compared to what he’d be facing next.

The Chamberlain called upon him to confirm his name and status as His Royal Highness, Prince David of Arkeon. He did. She placed the diamond circlet on his head. She called on the chamber to pass the motion to offer him the crown. They passed it. She asked him if he accepted the crown, with all the authority and responsibility that it carried. He took a deep breath. “I do.”

Documents were signed. Lister faced the assembly as the Chamberlain fixed the coronation cloak around his shoulders and handed him the royal sceptre. She then lead the procession out, followed by Flaubèrt and the senior ministers of the cabinet, followed by Lister (with Cat holding his cloak) and finally the rest of the ministers bringing up the rear. Out of the corner of his eye, Lister saw Rimmer and Kryten slip away to take their seats in the grand chamber. He turned to watch them go but, as the procession headed towards the palace doors, his attention was suddenly diverted by the sound of the people outside. The floor was practically trembling with it. He steeled himself as the doors opened, but the sound still hit him with almost physical force. The palace had become an island in a sea of people. Even his previous appearance had been nothing like this. The sky was swarming with drones, both security and paparazzi. He could see people hanging out of the windows of the surrounding buildings. It was overwhelming.

He clutched his sceptre, forced a smile, and did his best to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. _Don’t trip. Don’t stumble. Look straight ahead._

The procession wound its way slowly around the palace and through the gardens, the crowd flanking the length of the parade route. As they turned the corner, Lister saw the park as a solid mass of people, colour, and flags stretching to the horizon, with large screens mounted around the edges so those at the back could see. He suppressed a hysterical giggle. Such big screens for little old him. This was all so insane.

As they approached the steps leading up to the rear entrance, Lister found his eyes drawn to the small half-hidden garden gate just up ahead. For a moment, his smile faltered, and the crowd vanished; and his mind was filled with gently splashing water, and fireflies flitting against a purple twilight sky, and a soft mouth on his, and his heart raced.   
“You okay, buddy?” Cat asked suddenly behind him.   
Lister snapped back to himself. “Yeah,” he said shakily. “It’s just...a lot, isn’t it?”  
“Keep cool. We’re nearly there.”

They followed the red carpet up the steps, and through the large double doors into the grand chamber. There were musicians playing up on the minstrels gallery, reducing the noise of the crowd outside to a background hum. As the last of the ministers entered behind him, Lister heard the doors close and at once everything felt more still, more clear. He proceeded down the aisle, beneath the flags that draped the newly painted walls, the newly gilded ornamentation gleaming on the ceilings and balconies, and tried to ignore the hundreds of eyes on him as he walked towards the throne.

Flaubèrt and the Chamberlain stood either side of the tall golden chair, awaiting him. As he reached the dais, the ministers before him filed away into their seats, leaving his path clear. He ascended to the throne. Cat stayed for a moment, fanning his cloak out neatly behind him so that he could sit down more easily. When Lister was successfully seated, he bowed to him with a wide grin. Lister grinned back, and was surprised to find his eyes welling up. He wanted to give Cat a big hug suddenly. Because that was the thing about felines; they didn’t care if you were royalty or rabble. You were just their buddy, crown or no crown.

Cat nipped away to take his seat beside Rimmer and Kryten in the front row. They smiled up at him encouragingly and waved the miniature flags they’d acquired. Lister smiled back and tried not to laugh.

The ceremony proceeded as planned. Flaubèrt and the Chamberlain gave speeches, and readings from important texts from Arkeon’s history. The Zenito Children’s Choir sang an ancient Arkeonian folk song. Lister tried to keep his focus on what was happening, to avoid looking at the huge audience filling the hall. Eventually, the time came for him to swear the Royal Oath. He stood, and took the jewelled ceremonial sword from the Chamberlain.

“Do you, Prince David, last descendant of the House of Proteus, accept the title and mantle of King of Arkeon?”  
“I do.”  
“Do you solemnly swear before all assembled here this day, to govern all the peoples of Arkeon justly and fairly in all matters, with love, compassion, and mercy?”  
“I do.”  
“Will you lead and protect us in the face of danger, comfort us in wake of strife, and lift us up in triumph?”  
“I will.”  
“Then be seated upon your throne, and I shall bestow upon you the crown.”

Lister sat. Flaubèrt brought forward the crown on a silk cushion. The Chamberlain took the diamond circlet from Lister’s head and set it down on a second cushion held by a lesser minister. Then she lifted the crown and lowered it reverentially onto Lister’s head. He felt the weight of it as she took her hands away, the weight that was now his to bear alone.

“I now proclaim you King David The First of Arkeon. May your reign be long, peaceful and prosperous. Long live the king!”  
“Long live the king!” The hall chanted in response. Outside, Lister heard the crowd erupt in cheers, echoing back the cry over and over. “Long live the king! Long live the king!”

He followed the procession back through the hall and outside again. The air was filled with blood-red rose petals flung by the crowd. He walked through them in a daze, back to the top of the palace steps, where he finally turned to face the crowd. He stood still for a second, absorbing every minuscule facet of this moment, because he was sure that when the palace doors closed behind him it would feel like a dream that would slip away as if it had never happened. He drank it all in; the blur of the petals falling about him like crimson snow, the scent of roses, the blue of the sky, the strange feel of the court shoes on his feet, the weight of the cloak on his shoulders, and the crown on his head, and the sceptre in his hand. And the sound of hundreds of thousands of people chanting his name. “Hail King David! Long live the king!”

He smiled, and he waved. And finally understood, in a heady mix of elation and terror, that Dave Lister was dead.

_Long live the king._


	12. Chapter 12

Once safely back inside the palace, Lister turned to the waiting Flaubèrt and smiled sheepishly. “Well, how do I look?”  
“Like solid wood, your Majesty.” He stepped forward, took Lister’s hand, and bent to kiss the snake’s head on his finger. “But, perhaps, a little weighed down. I think now the ceremony is over we can dispense with some of the paraphernalia.” He beckoned over two assistants, who unclipped the cloak and took the sword and sceptre.   
“Phew,” Lister sighed with relief, “That’s better.”  
“Be careful with that,” Cat warned the pair as they folded the cloak up. “It’s hand-stitched!”  
“What about the crown?” Lister asked.  
“You should wear it through the banquet, and the ball. But you can take it off in-between if it’s becoming burdensome.”

Those who were attending the banquet were starting to trickle through from the grand chamber on their way to the dining room, including Rimmer and Kryten. Lister waved to them. Kryten waddled over and bowed deeply, “Your Majesty!” Rimmer hung back, executing a much smaller, awkward bow.   
Flaubèrt noticed his reticence and indulged in some gentle teasing. “Mr Rimmer, have you of all people come to kiss the king’s ring?”  
“I’m sorry, _what_?” Rimmer’s eyes widened and his cheeks flashed red.   
“To pledge your fealty.”  
“Oh. Oh, _that_. Yes, of course.” He glanced nervously at Lister, who smiled shyly and held his hand out. Avoiding his eyes, Rimmer quickly took his hand and kissed it, cheeks still pink.

Lister cleared his throat. “We should...uh...go on through to the dining room. Don’t want to keep people waiting.”  
“There’s no rush. You’ll enter last, after everyone is seated, and they will stand for your arrival.”  
“That sucks. I should get to go in first. I’m hungry.”  
“You will be served first, have no fear.”  
“Oh. Well, alright then.”  
“Remember what I taught you, Sir?” Kryten pressed. “We practiced table manners, didn’t we?”  
“Yes, yes. Cutlery is used from the outside in, elbows off the table, don’t lick the plates, don’t down your drink in one go, and don’t gargle with the champagne.”  
Rimmer looked pained, “Please tell me you didn’t put lobster on the menu, Kryten. Lessons or no lessons, I’m not sure His Majesty is ready to tackle that. And I’m positive the rest of the assembled company aren’t ready to watch him try.”  
“Of course not, Sir. I’m not a buffoon. I’ve planned the banquet menu very carefully.”  
“So what are we having?” Lister asked eagerly.  
“Can’t you guess, Sir?”  
“Curry?” Lister asked hopefully.  
“No, no, no. Chicken à la king!” Kryten tittered, delighted with himself.  
“Of course,” Lister sighed.

He entered the dining room to the sound of trumpets. “All rise for His Majesty, King David!” The master of ceremonies bellowed. The assembled guests at their long linen-draped tables stood and faced him solemnly. Lister tried to give the entire room an apologetic smile for making them get up, and slipped into his chair at the top table without fuss. “Please be seated!” the MC barked again, and the guests sank down. Almost immediately, a bread roll appeared on Lister’s side plate and his glass was filled with champagne. “I could get used to this,” he remarked cheerfully to Flaubèrt, who was sitting on his right.  
“I think you may have to.”  
“Big banquets like this aren’t going to be that common though, are they?”  
“A few times a year perhaps. Although technically, you could call one whenever you feel like it.”  
“Hmmm...” Lister glanced around at the flowers, and crystal, and fancy napkin swans, “It’s nice for a special occasion, but I don’t think I’d like it every night. Sometimes you just want the simple things in life, don’t you?”

As he looked around, his eyes rested on his crew-mates, sitting together across the room. It looked like Cat and Rimmer were squabbling. Lister smiled fondly, his eyes lingering on Rimmer’s petulant pout.  
“Indeed,” Flaubèrt agreed mildly beside him. “There are times when a small affair can be satisfying. When something more... _intimate_ is required.” Lister blinked, and turned to look at him. He smiled back cheerfully, “Butter, your Majesty?”  
Lister gave himself an internal shake, “Er...yes. Thanks.” As he chewed thoughtfully on his roll, his eyes drifted back to Rimmer. Yes, something more intimate would definitely be preferable right about now.

The banquet seemed to go on forever; endless courses punctuated by inane polite chatter. The food was excellent but Lister could feel a degree of fatigue setting in. The stress and adrenaline of the morning had taken its toll, and he was ready to curl up in the seclusion of his room and just breathe for a while. It did not escape the notice of his right-hand man. As the last of the dishes were cleared away, Flaubèrt tactfully suggested that he ought to retire for a spell, “You should refresh yourself for the ball tonight. I imagine the guests will be queuing for a dance with the king.”  
Lister smiled wearily, “Is this the royal equivalent of a disco nap?”  
“I’m not familiar with the term, but I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed for a few hours if you wish.”  
“That would be nice.”

Eventually, after a final fanfare, he managed to escape the dining room and headed back up the rear stairwell to the privacy of his chamber. Halfway up the stairs, he stopped to tug the wretched court shoes off, and walked the rest of the way in his stocking feet. Back in his room, he gingerly lifted off the crown and placed it on the dressing table. His head felt strangely light without it. He fought the natural urge to shed his clothes and drop them on the floor; instead carefully plucking loose the tiny pearl buttons, and placing everything back on the padded hangers Cat had provided. He kept on the loose silk shirt and boxers, and flumped onto his face on the four poster bed in a less than regal manner. Finally released from the restricting velvet jacket and breeches, the ridiculous shoes, and the weight of the crown, he felt oddly giddy and insubstantial.

_I did it. I made it through the coronation. I’m the king._

He took a deep breath, and the scent of an aftershave that wasn’t his tickled his nose. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy of the bed. _Let’s maybe worry about the sex after the coronation is out of the way_ , Rimmer had said. Well, the coronation was over, and lying here on these sheets with that scent still lingering on the silk, his brain was ready to tackle the subject.

He still couldn’t quite believe it had happened. It would almost feel like a dream if it hadn’t been for the decidedly unsexy, awkward, and downright fraught morning after that they’d had to contend with. And yet, in a way, he was glad it had turned out like that. The imperfectness of the episode made it so much more real, and so very _them_. If this was indeed the beginning of something, then it was never going to be perfect. Setting themselves a standard they would probably never reach again would have been a mistake, a bolt of lightning they could never recapture. But this...this was a starting point they could build on. From here, things could only get better.

He wondered if the whole thing had taken Rimmer by surprise as much as it had him. Was this something he’d wanted for a long time, or had that kiss crystallised things for him in an instant, the way it had for Lister? He slid a hand inside his boxers almost on auto-pilot as he replayed the previous evening in his head, hesitated as he realised what he was doing, then decided to do it anyway. He slipped off his shorts and took hold of his cock, sighing as he remembered the way Rimmer had gripped it in his tight fist, how he’d relentlessly stroked and pulled him to orgasm...

There was a knock at the door. Lister gasped and sat up sharply. “Er...who is it?” he called, cringing as his voice came out an octave higher than normal.  
“It’s me,” Rimmer said. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”  
“No! No, no!” Lister quickly grabbed a pillow and put it over his lap, leaning on it innocently. “Come in!”

Rimmer crept in timidly and closed the door behind him. He bowed awkwardly, “Your Majesty.”  
Lister couldn’t help but grin, “Really?”  
“Well, you know. You are now, aren’t you?”  
“Yeah,” Lister agreed, glancing over at the crown glinting in the afternoon sunlight. “But I don’t have my special hat on right now.”  
“Or much at all,” Rimmer noted, then blushed. Underneath the pillow, Lister throbbed.  
“The outfit was fancy but not super comfortable,” he admitted.  
“You looked very nice.”  
“So do you,” Lister smiled wistfully, “all dressed up handsome with your medals and everything.”  
“I thought I’d make an effort for the big day.”

They eyed each other shyly. “So, uh, last night,” Rimmer rubbed at the back of his neck. “That was a thing that happened. We should probably discuss that.”  
“Maybe discussion isn’t necessary,” Lister, still clutching the pillow in front of him, crawled up onto his knees and held out a hand.  
“Do you want me to kiss your ring again?” Rimmer asked sarcastically.  
Lister didn’t rise to it, unwilling to fall back into the old pattern. He shook his head. “No,” he said simply, “I just want you to kiss me.”  
Rimmer edged forward cautiously. “Seriously? You...want this?”  
“Of course. Don’t you?”  
“This is all very complicated. I don’t know what to do.”  
“What do you _want_ to do?”  
“I don’t know that either!”  
“You sure?” Lister raised an eyebrow, “ _You_ kissed _me_ , you know.”  
“I didn’t _mean_ to.” Noting Lister’s offended look, he backtracked quickly. “Look, last night was...stupendous. But you weren’t the king last night.”  
“So?”  
“It’s different now. I don’t think I can bring myself to do... certain things now. It seems - I don’t know- disrespectful.”  
“Rimmer, you have spent the last three million years and then some disrespecting me; and now that I’m finally getting something out of it, you want to play nice???”  
“Seeing you up there today was a reality check,” Rimmer said glumly. “All of this, the scale of it, the gravity of it, I hadn’t really accepted it until today. I don’t think you really had either.” He gave Lister a stern look. “I’m _still_ not sure if you have.”  
“I have,” Lister protested. “At least, I’m _trying_ to. It’s a big pill to swallow. And I know that it’s overwhelming and a bit scary, but I also know _you_ , and I know what it is you’re really scared of here.”  
“Which is?” Rimmer raised an eyebrow.  
“This. Us.”  
“What?!” Rimmer tried to look disparaging, but his quivering nostrils gave him away.

Lister did not back down. “You are afraid of intimacy. You’re afraid of being vulnerable. You’re afraid of getting hurt. You’re afraid of relationships because you’ve never had one and don’t know how they work. And all of those fears are multiplied by the fact that you and me already have a very long, very intimate, and very intense relationship. We both know this has no chance of being a casual or throwaway fling that doesn’t matter.” Rimmer gave him an embarrassed, resentful look, but didn’t argue. “This is gonna be all or nothing,” Lister clarified. “I’m ready for all. Are you?”  
“How can you be so calm about this?”  
“Rimmer, I have just had one of the most stressful mornings of my life; and considering my life that is really smegging saying something. In comparison, this doesn’t feel scary. In fact, if anything, this feels comforting. Soothing. _Right_.”  
“Really?”  
“Really. We can take this slowly. We don’t have to make any big announcements, or even any commitments just yet. Let’s just see how it goes. But before I have to go back out there and be the king, please, come to bed. Comfort me for a while.”

Rimmer sidled towards him nervously, reaching for his outstretched hand as if reaching for a cookie he wasn’t sure he was allowed. “I’m not sure I know how.”  
Lister took the hand and drew him close. His other hand dropped the pillow. Rimmer gasped softly. “You’ll figure it out,” Lister whispered and pulled him down into a kiss.

Rimmer’s arms went around him, his hands immediately delving beneath the silk shirt to his naked skin. Lister put his arms around his neck and fell backwards across the bed. Rimmer’s medals jangled in celebration. “Uniform off!” Rimmer gasped. One more swift movement and Lister’s silk shirt was whipped over his head and they were naked. Lister cupped Rimmer’s face gently in his hands as they kissed. “How do you feel about doing something _terribly_ disrespectful to your king?” he whispered between kisses. Rimmer’s response suggested he might be okay with it.


	13. Chapter 13

A few hours later, Lister descended the stairs once more. Only this time, he felt sure-footed, calm, and as light as if he were walking on air. After having spent a significant portion of his afternoon in a fevered tangle of luscious nudity, followed by a soft snuggly snooze, he was in a revoltingly good mood.

After a quick shower together, the two of them had proceeded to get ready for the ball. Lister slipped into the outfit Cat had left out for him - a full-sleeved white shirt, with a gold and silver embroidered cream silk waistcoat, black trousers, and black patent leather shoes - while Rimmer dawdled in front of the mirror, pondering different options. “Just put on what you were wearing earlier,” Lister told him, amused.  
“But everyone’s seen it.”  
“So?”  
“If I turn up in the same old thing it will look lazy. People will think I don’t care.”  
“No-one will notice.”  
“Besides, the coronation was a formal affair. This is a party. A very swanky party, but nevertheless.”  
“Rimmer, I’ve seen you wear that uniform in nightclubs before now.”  
“What about blue? I like blue.” Rimmer scowled at his reflection in concentration, and projected himself a sapphire silk tunic and trouser suit with a silver cummerbund. Lister raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Very nice.”  
“I think it’ll do,” Rimmer wriggled his shoulders.  
“You’ll be giving Cat a run for his money next.”  
“I hardly think so.”  
“All this time spent around haute couture seems to have rubbed off on you.”  
“It’s not the only thing that’s rubbed off on me lately,” Rimmer wriggled his eyebrows.  
“Romantic, Rimsy. Real romantic.” Lister pushed him out of the way of the mirror and started trying to unwind his dreads from the unraveling bun. After a second’s pause, Rimmer reached over to help him. Their eyes met in the mirror, and they shared a happy but slightly nervous smile, both of them marvelling at the sweetness of this new-found intimacy.

The moment was cut short by Cat’s voice outside. “Hey, why’s the door locked?”  
“Just a minute,” Lister called, reluctantly heading over.  
“C’mon! Lemme in!” he scrabbled at the door.  
“Oh my god! Chill out! I’m _coming_!” Lister turned the lock and Cat darted in, resplendent in full white-tie regalia.  
“Are you nearly ready? The party starts any minute!”  
“Typical cat,” Rimmer sniffed, “Clamouring to come in, then immediately wants to go out again.”  
“Keep your fur on. I’m ready,” Lister soothed. “I’m just trying to sort out my hair.”  
“What did you do to this, buddy?” Cat scolded, inspecting the damage. “It’s all tangled to hell.”  
“I didn’t do anything,” Lister protested, with a coy look at Rimmer. “It must have got messed up while I was napping.”  
“Why didn’t you put on a hairnet?”  
“You what?”  
“Never mind, it’s too late now.” Cat shoved him down onto the stool in front of the dressing table and started to swiftly unpick the tangles. He gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re hard work sometimes, you know that?”  
“Sorry, man.” Lister tried his best not to laugh.

As the three of them finally headed back down the stairs together, Lister had a spring in his step, and not just because he’d disposed with the hated heels. The ball was still going to be challenging in some respects, but he thought he might actually enjoy it. It had been some time since he’d been to a party. Even the crown somehow felt less heavy than it had earlier.

As they reached the double doors of the grand chamber, the doormen bowed deeply. “Please inform the guests that the king has arrived,” Lister told them calmly.  
“Yes, your Majesty.” One of them darted inside. Moments later, the sound of trumpets echoed through the hall. Lister entered and looked around, impressed. The grand chamber looked much bigger with all of the chairs emptied out, although there were still some placed at intervals around the edges of the room. The six gold and crystal chandeliers were ablaze, filling the room with warm light and rainbows. The double doors leading out to the palace gardens were open, and outside Lister could see the glimmer of fairy lights and lanterns. The attending crowd of finely-dressed Arkeonians applauded as he made his way up to the throne. Flaubèrt was waiting, as was Kryten, who held a tray of drinks. Lister took one. “Do I need to say anything?” he murmured to Flaubèrt. “Or do I just sit down and they get on with it?”  
“Perhaps say a few words, just to welcome everyone.”

Lister cleared his throat, and faced the guests. “Thank you all for coming here this evening to help celebrate this very special day with me. I cannot put into words how proud and honoured I am. Please enjoy yourselves tonight, but before we begin I hope you will join me in a toast.” He raised his glass. “To Arkeon!”  
“TO ARKEON!” The people chanted back.  
“Long live the king!” Another voice rang out, and the sentiment was echoed back a hundredfold.  
“LONG LIVE THE KING!”   
Lister took a bow and drank from his glass, and the people cheered. “Now let’s party!” he proclaimed. “Music!”

The band struck up, and he turned back to Flaubèrt, who looked amused. “Nicely done, your Majesty. Without even a script too. You are becoming very adept at this.”  
“Although I’m not sure how many royal speeches through the ages have concluded with ‘now let’s party’,” Rimmer remarked disapprovingly.  
“Oh, shush,” Lister said happily, “I’m bringing the monarchy into the modern age, that’s all.” He sipped his champagne. “Kryten, you don’t have to serve drinks, man. Go enjoy the ball.”  
“I _am_ enjoying it, Sir,” Kryten beamed. “All of these people need drinks, canapés, someone to take their coats, directions to the toilets. It’s been so long since I had so many people to serve! I haven’t felt this alive in years!”  
“Oh. Alright then. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” He turned to the rest of his entourage. “All of you, go on. Go dance. Have fun.”  
“What about you?” Rimmer asked.  
“I’m going to sit on my new throne for a bit, have a drink, and preserve my energy for later.”  
“What’s happening later?”  
Lister smiled angelically at him, “Dancing, of course. What else?”  
“Very wise, your Majesty. It’s a good idea to pace yourself. In more ways than one,” Flaubèrt noted, as Lister downed his drink and took another from Kryten’s tray.  
“Yes, yes. Duly noted.” Lister settled into the velvet padding of the throne. “Now be off with you. By order of the king.”

He settled down to observe the festivities from a safe distance for a while. He’d had some dancing lessons over the past few weeks but wasn’t confident to wade in without watching for a bit first. He leaned back into the throne, crossed his legs, and let the music wash over him. The thick velvet cradled him surprisingly comfortably. If you’d asked him a week ago how he imagined this night, he would have seen himself sitting ramrod stiff and awkward on the throne, greeting a long line of well-wishers, and stifling under the weight of painful formality. But no. It was strange how all of his nerves seemed to have just...melted away. Even addressing the crowd without warning had felt easy. Maybe he really was getting the hang of this.

Or maybe he just needed a brain-bustingly hot fuck before every public engagement.

Down at the refreshment table, Rimmer kept stealing glances at Lister up on the dais as he perused the canapés. Even now, he felt a pang of resentment at just how easily he seemed to have taken to the role of royalty. He was up there reclining on the throne as casually and as elegantly as if he’d been doing it his whole life. His chin was lifted just so, to balance the weight of the crown on his head as if it was already second nature. He made it look effortless. Rimmer knew, just _knew_ , that in the same situation he’d be forever reaching up to steady and adjust the damn thing to keep it from toppling off. But, beneath the jealousy, a stronger thrum of desire still hummed in his chest. He looked so breathtakingly _good_.

Rimmer let himself remember how it had been earlier. Lister’s body hot and naked beneath him; not composed and collected like now, but desperate, frantic with building pleasure. Every inch of him raw and bare and exposed, as new and precious as a freshly opened pearl. The memory of his face, his cries of ecstasy as he’d come in Rimmer’s arms, trembling like a plucked guitar string, was enough to make his cock stir beneath his tunic even now.

“Are you quite alright, Mr Rimmer?” Flaubèrt appeared at his shoulder.  
“What?”  
“You’ve been holding that quails egg in front of your mouth for nearly a minute without eating it.”  
“I’m fine. I just got distracted.” Flaubèrt followed the direction of his gaze and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Rimmer tried not to blush. “He’s looking far too comfortable up there. It’s making me nervous. I keep thinking any minute he’s going to start scratching his love spuds or chewing his toenails.”  
“I’m sure His Majesty has all of his urges under control,” Flaubèrt smiled reassuringly.  
“Let’s hope so.” _I hope at least one of us does._

After finishing his second drink, Lister was feeling relaxed enough to take to the floor. He beckoned over one of the footmen. “Hey, I fancy a dance. What’s the protocol?”  
“I don’t really know, your Majesty. I think you just pick someone. Royal prerogative and all that.”  
“Oh. Okay then.”

Lister glanced around the ballroom and spotted a sweet-faced girl hovering timidly on the sidelines by herself. She looked as unsure as he felt. “How about her?”  
“Of course, your Majesty.” The footman bustled over to her and Lister watched nervously. This reminded him cringingly of school discos past. _Will you dance with my mate?_

The footman spoke briefly to the girl and he saw her gasp and turn to stare at him. He waved shyly. The footman led her over, and Lister was aware of a hush falling over the room as she was brought before him. He tried not to squirm at the attention. Even the musicians had reached a lull. She curtsied to him and he smiled at her. “What’s your name, Ma’am?” he asked kindly.  
“Isabella, your Majesty. Isabella Espinosa.”  
“What a pretty name. Would you do me the honour of joining me for a dance, Isabella?”  
“The honour would be all mine, your Majesty.”

Lister stood and took her by the hand as the music piped up once more. She gulped. “It’s okay,” he said to her quietly, so no-one else could hear. “Don’t be nervous. I’ve only had a few lessons. I can guarantee you, you can’t be any worse at this than I am.”  
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said dutifully.  
“If nothing else, I’ll make you look better by default,” he teased with a smile. She smiled back, looking relieved and much less nervous. The crowd parted for them as they walked onto the dancefloor and he led her into a simple waltz. “Let’s stick with the classics, eh?”  
“I think I can just about manage that,” she said gratefully. Gradually, other couples began to join in, and although Lister was still very aware of being watched, some of the pressure eased. “Are you having a nice time?” he asked Isabella.  
“It’s wonderful,” she said. “Like a fairytale. I can’t believe I’m dancing with the king. I feel like Cinderella.”  
“Better keep an eye on your shoes and the time then.”  
She smiled shyly at his joke. “Why did you choose me?”  
“Because you looked like the only person in the room more frightened than me. I thought perhaps we could help each other.”  
“Really?”  
“This is all new to me too, you know.”  
“I suppose so. I never thought of it like that. I just assumed it would all come naturally to someone like you.”  
“If only. Believe me, if you had seen me just a few weeks ago, if you had known me before all this, you would be amazed at what you see before you now.”  
“But you were born for this! I mean,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “they say you’re _him_. Not just a descendant. That you’re Julius.”  
“And do you believe that?”  
“I want to. Is it true?”  
“It can’t be proved.”  
“But do you _believe_ it?”

Lister looked into her eager eyes and then looked back over her shoulder at the empty throne. “Yes,” he said. “I think I finally do.”

The song finished. He bowed and she bobbed a curtsy. “You have nothing to fear, your Majesty,” she told him softly. “You are a very fine dancer.”   
“Thank you.”  
“Thank _you_. I doubt that anything else I face tonight will be as nerve-wracking. I feel quite relaxed now.”  
“Just don’t forget your shoe when you leave.”  
“I won’t.” She bent and kissed his hand. “Long live the king.”  
“Wait! Wait! Hold it!” A voice clamoured, making them both jump. A sudden flash dazzled Lister’s eyes.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Hello again, Gianni.”  
“Your Majesty! Such a beautiful evening! The pictures will be just stunning.”  
“Glad to hear it.” Lister gently gestured to Isabella that she was free to escape if she wanted, and she quickly slipped away to the refreshment tables; and he decided to make his own getaway.   
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to find another dancing partner.”  
“Of course, of course! Gather around, ladies! Who wishes to dance with his Majesty?” A crowd of girls immediately assembled like iron filings drawn to a magnet. Nduba picked one and all but threw her into Lister’s arms. “Smile!”  
“Great. Okay. Thank you,” Lister started to edge away.  
“We’ll catch up later for some formal shots.”  
“Sure. Talk to Flaubèrt. He’ll organise something.”  
“Marvellous!” Nduba whirled away to take more candid snapshots of the guests. Lister supposed a lengthy photoshoot later was unavoidable, but it could wait. He just hoped that this time Nduba hadn’t brought any weird and wonderful props for ambience. He looked sheepishly at his new partner, who was beaming up at him expectantly.   
“Erm, hi. What’s your name?”

 


	14. Chapter 14

After dancing with what felt like every woman at the ball, Lister was in need of a break. He managed to make his way out towards the terrace, and took a deep breath as he stepped out into the cool night air. Strings of golden fairy lights gave a magical glow that was soothing after the bright lights of the ballroom. The park and gardens had emptied out now, and with the music and chatter of the ball fading behind him, there was a crisp stillness to the evening. It was strange to think that just this morning he’d mounted these steps for the coronation with his knees trembling, and the crowd roaring. It felt like a dream. A few party-goers enjoying the view of the gardens, and the relative peace and quiet, bowed to him as he passed. He picked up another cool drink, and wandered to the far end of the terrace, where just one person stood alone.

“Hey,” he leaned back against the stone balustrade next to Rimmer. “You having fun?”  
“It’s a magnificent party,” Rimmer acknowledged grudgingly.  
“But?”  
“Bit busy for my liking.”  
“Weird, innit,” Lister agreed. “When I think of all that time we spent alone, to go from that to _this_ just feels surreal.”  
“Smegging typical. We finally want to be alone together and it’s impossible.”  
“We’re alone now.” Lister shyly walked his fingers along the balustrade to entwine with Rimmer’s.  
“Not quite,” Rimmer drew the hand back with a nervous glance over Lister’s shoulder at the people at the other end of the terrace.  
“It’s dark. They can’t see us.”  
“They might.”  
“We could go back to the little garden. There won’t be anyone there.”  
“This is your party, remember. You can’t just sneak off.”  
“I can for a few minutes.”  
“I don’t think so.”  
“C’moooon.”

“Behave yourself,” Rimmer scolded, looking around anxiously. “This is an official function, not some skeevy house party. We are not sneaking off for a quickie in the garden.”  
“Well, it’s my house and my garden, so why not?”  
“It’s not proper!”  
“That’s what makes it _fun_.”  
“I thought you were already having fun. Is there anyone here you haven’t danced with yet?”  
“You.” Lister took Rimmer’s hand, raised his arm up and twirled under it.  
Rimmer took the hand back firmly. “I don’t dance.”  
“I beg to differ.”  
“Morris dancing isn’t the same as ballroom dancing. It doesn’t count.”  
“That’s okay. I don’t really want to dance anyway,” Lister said softly, looking up suggestively through his eyelashes.  
“Shhh,” Rimmer urged suddenly. “Someone’s coming.”

Flaubèrt joined them with a bow. “Your Majesty, how are you enjoying the evening?”  
“Knackered, mate,” Lister said with a rueful smile.  
“Understandable. It has been a long and tiring day for many of us, but most of all for you. Everyone has been impressed at the effort you have put in tonight; it has not gone unnoticed by either your ministers or your people.”  
“Thanks. And thank _you_ for all your hard work organising everything. The whole day went off without a hitch. You should be very proud.”  
“Thank you, your Majesty. I consider it a practice run for the next big occasion.”  
“Steady. Let’s get today over with first before we go planning the next shindig.”  
“Planning ahead is what I do, your Majesty. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose anyone has caught your eye this evening?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, now that Arkeon has a king again, your first priority should be to ensure the succession of the royal line.”  
“Eh?”

Rimmer spoke up beside him, his voice clipped. “I believe Flaubèrt is tactfully trying to tell you that you need to get busy with the baby-making.”  
“What?” Lister squeaked. “But I only just got crowned! What’s the rush?”  
“Right now, you are the only surviving member of the royal family. It would be prudent to produce an heir and a spare post haste; and before you can do that, first you need to get married. And a royal wedding takes a lot of time and planning.”  
“But...who would I marry?”  
“I’m sure there are any number of candidates here this evening who would be happy to oblige,” Flaubèrt said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Rimmer?”  
“Absolutely,” Rimmer said stiffly. “Place is hopping with people.”  
“Exactly. Keep an open mind, have a think about it. Who knows, it could be that the right person is here tonight. Perhaps even one of your dancing partners,” Flaubèrt said meaningfully.  
“Let’s maybe hold that thought for now,” Lister said desperately.  
“As you wish. I’m sure a suitable partner will present themselves in due course. Rome was not built in a day, and as you say, we still have to get through tonight. On which note, I’m afraid I must reveal my true reason for interrupting you. We are ready for the official photographs now, if you would oblige.”  
“Oh. Well...” Lister turned to Rimmer apologetically. His face was stony cold.  
“Go,” he said shortly. “Do your duty.”

Lister reluctantly followed Flaubèrt back into the ballroom, fixed a smile in place, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone in case his Prime Minister started getting ideas about matchmaking.

Some hours later, when the last tune had been played, the last pictures taken, the last cocktail sausage eaten, Lister stood at the window outside his room, watching as the guests trickled away down the palace steps and out into the night. He felt oddly both sad and relieved. Everything had been building up to this day for so long, he felt slightly adrift now it was over. Tomorrow, a new chapter was beginning.

He returned to his room and undressed, then climbed into bed; waiting. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Rimmer crept into the room. “Hey,” Lister welcomed him softly.  
“Hi.” Rimmer stood stiff and still. He didn’t approach the bed.  
“Are you okay?” Lister sat up.  
“We need to talk.”  
“I don’t want to talk,” Lister said, “I don’t even want to think. I just want you, and then I want to sleep for a week.”  
“Lister,” Rimmer stared grimly at the floor, “I can’t do this.”  
“That’s fine. I’m tired too. We can just snuggle.”  
“No. No, I mean...all of this.”

Lister stared at him for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Is this because of what Flaubèrt said earlier? Look, don’t worry about it. There’s plenty of time to worry about all that stuff.”  
“Is there?”  
“I’m not in any rush to ensure the royal succession, okay?”  
“Perhaps you should be. He was right, you’re the only one left.”  
“I’m not planning on dying any time soon.”  
“No-one ever does,” Rimmer said pointedly.  
“Yeah, okay, fair enough. But I’m not ready yet. I’m still finding my feet here, man. By the time I _am_ ready, anything could have happened. Let’s just play it by ear for now, okay?”  
“I don’t think I can do that.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because like you said earlier, this has to be all or nothing. And I realised tonight that it can’t ever be all, even if we wanted it to.”  
“Rimmer...”  
“I mean it. You have a duty to uphold. A duty I cannot be part of. You need to have children. I can’t help you with that.”

“You’re overreacting,” Lister told him wearily. “A week from now, a month from now, a _year_ from now, we could decide to call it quits and this whole subject will be irrelevant. But I don’t want to miss out on all that. Do you?”  
“I would rather quit while I’m ahead.”  
“You don’t even want to try? You don’t want to see where this leads?”  
“There’s only one place it can lead. Misery.”  
“Not necessarily! Look, say we decide we want to stay together. So what? If parliament won’t let us get married, I’ll get Flaubèrt to find some girl who knows the score and fancies being the queen. We’ll do what we gotta, and you and me can still do our own thing. That’s what monarchs have done pretty much through history, isn’t it?”  
“I’m not going to be your dirty secret! And I’m not going to share! Besides, is that really the kind of life you want? Is that the kind of life you want to raise your children in?”  
“Fine. Then I’ll abdicate,” Lister said bluntly. “If they won’t budge then I’ll walk away.”  
“Oh, smegging perfect! I’ll go down in history as the guy who tumbled the Arkeonian monarchy before it had even begun.”  
“What do you want me to do?” Lister threw up his hands.  
“To accept that this is doomed to failure, so we can both get on with our lives.”

Lister threw back the covers and confronted him angrily. “You’ve been grouchy all night. Even before Flaubèrt said all that stuff, you were pushing me away. I thought you were just jealous - of the girls, of the attention, all of that - but that wasn’t it, was it? You’d already made up your mind to finish with me.”  
“Because I tried to discourage you from causing a scandal at your own inaugural ball?”  
“Kings and queens have engaged in all kinds of ‘scandalous’ behaviour since time began. It’s not a big deal, even for someone as obsessed with propriety as you,” Lister said dismissively. “I knew you were scared about this. I knew you would find it hard to adjust. But I thought, _I really smegging thought_ , that you would make it through at least 24 hours before freaking out and giving up.”  
“Me giving up? What about you? You swore a sacred oath in front of this entire planet just hours ago, and you’re already talking about jacking it in if you can’t have your own way? This isn’t some crappy job you can just walk away from when it gets too hard! It’s too late for that! You made the choice and now you have to stand by it, like it or not.”  
“Don’t try and turn this around and make it about me! I understand the choice I made!” Lister replied, furious. “I’ve spent hours of my life agonising over that choice. I took that oath seriously, and I wouldn’t go back on it just because things get _hard_. But I would do it for love. If you and me were for keeps and committed, then that would take precedence over everything.”  
“But it _shouldn’t_. This is real life and love is not a magic sword that conquers all. You have been granted a miracle, and I will not be your reason - or your excuse - for throwing it away.”  
“It should be _my_ decision.”  
“Left in charge of your own decisions, you’d be on the front page of every paper in Arkeon tomorrow, staggering out of a shrubbery with your trousers round your ankles. For smeg’s sake, Lister! It’s time to grow up. _You. Are. The. King._ For once, just _once_ in your life, step up and take some responsibility.”

Lister was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally, jaw clenched. “But for once in _your_ life, be honest with yourself. Admit that you don’t give a smeg about any of this. Admit that you don’t care about the oath I swore today, or the survival of the royal line, or my _responsibilities_. Admit that you’re a smegging coward, and you’re afraid of how you feel and how this might end, so you’re running away.”

Rimmer shrugged heavily, “I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat. We both know who I am, and I’m probably never going to change. But you can. And if you’re going to survive, then you’ll have to. I meant what I said last night; you have the makings of a very good king. But sooner or later you’re going to have to learn to rule with your head and not your heart.”  
“I sincerely hope not,” Lister replied defiantly. He turned on his heel and walked back to the bed. “Like I said, I’m pretty beat. So if you’re not going to make it worth my while to stay awake, then I suggest you leave.”  
“Very well,” Rimmer headed for the door. He looked back sadly over his shoulder. “This is for the best. You’ll see that too, eventually.”  
“Keep telling yourself that if it helps. I don’t want your excuses. See ya round, Rimsy.”  
Rimmer sighed deeply. “Good night. Your Majesty.” He bowed and left.

Lister crawled back into bed, pulled the covers around himself sulkily, and muttered, “Smeghead.”  
On the dressing table, the crown glittered in the moonlight.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Lister stifled a yawn as he sat at the head of the round table the following Monday.He’d had a quiet weekend trying to recover from the insanity of the last few days, spent mostly in his room listening to music, napping, and pretending he wasn’t avoiding Rimmer.Getting up early to meet with his ministers this morning had been a challenge.

A selection of newspapers and magazines were spread across the table, as they assessed the public reaction to the coronation and ball.“Overall, the verdict appears to be overwhelmingly positive,” Flaubèrt announced brightly.“A few criticisms from the expected sources; the parade route was too short, the music was too old-fashioned, the banquet menu was too ‘safe’, the whole day was either too formal or not formal enough.But that’s about it.”

“Fab,” Lister said.“Well done, everyone.Looks like we pulled it off.”

“Indeed, your Majesty.”

“So, what happens next?” Lister sat back in his chair.

“Nothing yet.We don’t want to risk overexposure.We’ll arrange a small function in two or three weeks time - a small handshaking affair at the hospital or the defence base, something like that.Otherwise, it will be day-to-day admin duties, I’m afraid.”

“Fine with me.I could do with a breather.My legs still feel like jelly after all that walking around in high heels and then dancing.”

“It may have been exhausting, but the guests loved it,” another minister assured him.“And so didthe press.”He pulled a glossy magazine out of the pile and held it up.

The cover was a full page photo of Isabella kissing his hand after their dance.The headline read **‘A Fairytale Begins?’** Down the side in smaller print, the spiel ran: ‘ _Who is the mystery woman who caught the King’s eye?Is this the beginning of a Royal Romance???’_

Lister shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “It was just one dance, for smeg’s sake.”

“Did you choose her for any particular reason?” Flaubèrt asked innocently.

“Yes!She looked non-threatening!She was a sweet kid, I hope no-one is bothering her about this.She was shy as it was, she doesn’t need paparazzi banging at her door.”

“Some initial attention is probably unavoidable but it will pass, so long as nothing further comes of it.It may help deflect attention away from her if you are seen with someone else.”

Lister narrowed his eyes, “Like who?You’re not sneakily trying to set me up on a blind date, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of such a thing, your Majesty.Although if you _were_ thinking along those lines...”

“ _No_.No dates.”He paused, “Not yet, anyway.”

“As you wish, your Majesty.”

As they left his office and headed back to the main hall, he spotted Rimmer perched on a stool with a sketchbook, apparently trying to emulate one of the portraits.He hoped to slope past without interacting, but had no such luck.“Mr Rimmer,” Flaubèrt greeted him cheerfully, “how did you enjoy the festivities?”

“Erm.Well.It all basically went to plan, didn’t it?” Rimmer ventured awkwardly.“That’s the important thing.”

“I didn’t see you on the dance floor,” a second minister chimed in.

“Mr Rimmer doesn’t dance,” Lister replied for him, his voice chilly.

“Really?He gave you a brief twirl, if I’m not mistaken,” Flaubèrt said with a smile.

“Mmm.Very brief.”Lister smiled tightly.

“Any longer would have been inappropriate,” Rimmer said pointedly.

“Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun.”

“Life can’t all be fun and games.”

“More of it could be, if some people would lighten up a bit.”

Flaubèrt, sensing the tension, cleared his throat, “Your Majesty, we should head to the ministerial chamber.I think there’s a debate starting in a few minutes.”

“About?”

“Grazing rights.”

“Alright.I don’t know anything about it, but I’ll go along and try to learn something, because I’m a responsible monarch and I take my duties very seriously,” Lister said loftily, with an icy sideways glance at Rimmer, who rolled his eyes.

“Erm...very good, your Majesty,” Flaubèrt said, baffled.“Good day, Mr Rimmer.”

“Good day, gentlemen.Your Majesty.”Lister flounced off without replying. 

Flaubèrt fell into step beside him.“Forgive me if I’m being impertinent, your Majesty, but I must say I find it difficult to understand the...dynamics...of your relationship with Mr Rimmer.”

“Join the club,” Lister replied, a tad more sharply than he intended.He checked himself and softened his tone.He couldn’t take out his frustration on others, and he didn’t want to cause suspicion.“Look, we go back a long way.A _very_ long way.When you spend that amount of time with someone, it’s never going to be straightforward.”

“I understand the two of you have a lot of history.It’s understandable that would also include a certain amount of...baggage, shall we say?”

“Three million years worth of baggage, mate.” 

Flaubèrt paused for a moment before continuing, “I wonder if I might be so bold as to make a suggestion?”

“Go on.”

“Perhaps it would help matters if you found Mr Rimmer some kind of occupation.Your other companions have settled into life here very quickly and successfully.They have engaged with palace life and found a place in it for themselves, but he has no role here.All he can do is watch you from the sidelines.I suspect that it may be causing some resentment.”

“Just the fact I’ve landed this gig is enough to cause plenty of resentment, believe me.”

“Nevertheless, if he had more of a purpose, something of his own to focus on other than you, maybe it would help ease some of the tension.”

“Tension has been pretty much a constant in our relationship since we met.One way or another.”

“Then perhaps this would be beneficial for you both.Give yourselves a little breathing space and find him something to _do_.”

Lister pondered this.It did make sense, especially right now.“I don’t know what I’d do with him, to be honest,” he admitted.“It’s not like there’s any vending machines in the palace to fix.”

“Well, what are his strengths?”

“Sarcasm is the main one.”

“Anything else?”

_He’s a surprisingly good kisser._ “I’m gonna need some time to think about that.”

“Very well.”They arrived at the chamber.“We can discuss it another time.Let me know if you think of anything.”

Later that day, having learned more about grazing rights than he had ever wanted to know, Lister went out to the walled garden and sat down next to the fountain; pretending he had chosen the spot to think in quiet, rather than pine and sulk.Lister hated getting dumped.Getting dumped by Arnold Rimmer of all people was particularly galling.Why did he even want to be with the jerk anyway?He was a king now, with any number of subjects who would give their right arm to be by his side, so why was he hankering after a dead guy with whom he’d spent far more time fighting than fucking?He flicked moodily at the water and huffed.

What would be a suitable job for Rimmer? _Royal courtesan.That’ll teach him_.Lister allowed himself an evil smirk.Well, it would kill two birds with one stone, but he somehow doubted that parliament - or indeed Rimmer - would approve. 

_What are his strengths?_ Lister pondered this.Rimmer could draw pretty well, but he didn’t fancy making him the royal portrait artist.It would mean spending too much time together, when the object was to give each other some space.He had some basic engineering skills, but he’d never accept grunt work, and couldn’t be trusted with anything complicated or important.What else was he good at? _Running away.Hiding from things.Being a no-good, sneaky, self-interested coward who legs it at the first sign of trouble...._

Lister looked up suddenly and stared at the fountain.That was it.It was perfect.“Eureka,” he said aloud, and went to find Flaubèrt.

Rimmer entered the royal office the following morning with some trepidation.Lister, Flaubèrt, and another man he didn’t recognise were sitting at the round table.“Good morning,” Lister smiled, a little too brightly.

Rimmer returned the greeting cautiously.“You sent for me, your Majesty.”

“Indeed I did.Take a seat.”Rimmer sat, feeling decidedly ill-at-ease.This felt horribly like being called to the headteacher’s office.The fact that Lister was now the headteacher, and was currently undoubtedly rather smegged-off with him didn’t help.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Lister said. _What?What the smeg?What is he doing?We have company!Are they joining in too?This is totally...._ “How would you like a job?”

“Oh.”It took Rimmer a full five seconds to recalibrate his brain.“Um.I don’t know.What sort of job?”

“National defence.”

“I’m sorry?”

“This is General Clacket.He’s in charge of the defence base just outside Zenito.He’s willing to take you on as an assistant advisor, if you’d be interested.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re into all that military strategy stuff, aren’t you?Arkeon is facing a lot of outside threats.We need someone who can look at our defences with fresh eyes.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s about time you got off your arse and made yourself useful.”

“And you think this is the answer?”

“I do.I think you’ll be good at this.”Lister sat back in his chair, “I thought to myself, we need someone who can look at any situation or setup and see the flaws.Someone who can always be relied upon to imagine the worst-case scenario.Because then we can always be prepared, see?And for some reason, you were the first person I thought of.” Lister smiled sweetly.Rimmer glared back at him.“I want you to examine our defence systems and strategies with a fine-tooth comb and find everything that’s wrong with them.”

 “Do I have a choice?” Rimmer asked stonily.

“Yes, of course,” Lister replied, offended.“You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want.You can go on mooching around the palace bored stiff, if you really want to.I thought this was something you might enjoy and actually do well at.I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity.”

“Of being shipped off to the front lines?”

“I’m not sending you into the trenches, for smeg’s sake.It’s just the base for operations, and you don’t even have to stay there.You can keep your room in the palace.”

“What if it gets attacked?”

“Then you’ll be surrounded by trained soldiers with lots of weapons who can look after you.”Lister gave him a cool stare, “And if that’s not enough, I’m sure you’ll still be fine.You’re a man who knows how to make a _strategic retreat_ , after all.”Rimmer winced and Lister looked away sulkily.

Flaubèrt tactfully stepped in to break the awkward silence.“I believe what His Majesty is trying to say, Mister Rimmer, is that your expertise and experience in space survival all these years would be beneficial to our military, and that we would be grateful for your assistance.”

“Then maybe _His Majesty_ should say it.”

“Fine.What he said,” Lister muttered.

“How terribly gracious of you.”

Lister turned to Flaubèrt, eyes narrowed.“Are you _sure_ I can’t have a dungeon installed?”

“Alright, alright, alright.I’ll do it.Seeing as you asked so nicely.”

“Good.Thank you.”Lister tossed him some paperwork.“Sign these, then go with the General.He’ll get you settled in.”Rimmer looked at Clacket, who was looking back at him with what might be generously described as ‘misgivings’.Well, that was a look he was more than used to, and in a way Lister was right.He _was_ bored, and this might actually be something useful he could do.There were some benefits to cowardice.

But as he watched Lister stride out of the room, he felt a pang inside, and remembered there were a lot of drawbacks too.


	16. Chapter 16

“We’ve received another letter of complaint from General Clacket, your Majesty.”  
“Another one? It’s only been six weeks!”  
Flaubèrt looked down at the letter in front of him. “He says that Mister Rimmer is ‘beyond paranoid’ and ‘possibly unstable’.”  
“He’s always been like that, it’s nothing to worry about. That’s why I gave him this job in the first place, so he could put that paranoia to good use and maybe make some helpful recommendations.”  
“Hmmm. The general feels Mister Rimmer’s recommendations are a little extreme.”  
“Well, what does he want?”  
“To instigate a single-use security clearance code system for all ships arriving and departing the planet; more use of long-range scanners to monitor local activity, and refurbishment of the defence shields.”  
“That doesn’t sound unreasonable to me.”  
“He also wants a secure panic bunker beneath the defence base stocked with food, water and weaponry in case of attack; the construction of a network of underground tunnels running in and out of the city; night vision cameras concealed in the woods and mountains as an early warning system. Oh, and some nuclear missiles.”  
“The man’s a lunatic!” a second minister brayed.  
“Okay, the nuclear missiles are maybe just a tad unnecessary,” Lister admitted. “We’ve got decent anti-spacecraft artillery. But the rest is manageable.”  
“A panic bunker? Underground tunnels? It would cost a fortune.”  
“You can’t put a price on safety, Lang.”  
“But it’s totally unnecessary.”

“Try telling that to the Schumann family,” another minister said darkly.  
“How would tunnels have helped them?”  
“They wouldn’t have, but they might help protect the city in the event of an attack.”  
“An attack? For heaven’s sake, you’re overreacting. We had one minor security breach...”  
“Minor?” Flaubèrt repeated angrily.  
“Look, no-one is more upset about what happened to the Schumann’s than I, but it was a one-off.”  
“How can we be sure?” Lister pressed. “How do we know those GELFs didn’t tell their mates where they were headed? They might still have friends and family who will come looking. How do we know they didn’t send out a communication before they were shot down, saying ‘hey, guess what we found?’ A communication that could be picked up by anyone. Forget the GELFs, if the simulants get wind of a human colony on Arkeon, they won’t bother with an invasion, they’ll bomb the planet into a scorched desert without ever even landing.”  
“And again, Mister Rimmer’s ideas would help how?”  
“A tunnel system to get people underground and out of the city could make the difference between catastrophe and extinction.”  
“Forgive me, your Majesty, but this all seems a tad melodramatic.”  
“Have you ever seen a simulant death cruiser up close, Lang?” Lister challenged. “Because I have, and so has Mister Rimmer. Just _one_ of those bastards has enough firepower to wipe Zenito off the map. A fleet of them could do enough damage to make this planet uninhabitable. Trust me, if they find us you’ll _wish_ we had those nuclear missiles.”  
“The chances of it...”  
“...Are not as remote as you think,” Lister interrupted firmly. “You’ve never been off this planet in your life. I spent too long out there and saw too much to be flippant about this. Yeah, Rimmer is paranoid, but not without reason.” 

He turned to Flaubèrt. “Present Mister Rimmer’s proposals to parliament tomorrow - minus the bit about the nuclear missiles. It’s their call. But you can tell them that he has the king’s support.”  
“Very good, your Majesty.”

After the meeting, Lister headed back to his room, trying to gently massage away his headache. _Smegging Rimmer_. He’d known well enough to expect some friction as a result of getting Rimmer involved in...well, anything. It was inevitable that he’d rub a few people up the wrong way. However, if he went too far it reflected badly on Lister, and he didn’t want to get hauled in front of parliament to explain why he’d let a maniac loose in the military. Despite what he’d said to Lang, he knew the proposed measures were too extreme - and expensive - to be upheld, but he had to either make some show of support or face the embarrassment of admitting that appointing Rimmer had been a mistake. And in all fairness, people were scared at the moment, and finances were healthy. Such measures might actually be welcomed by the public, if presented favourably. It could work out.

Either way, given past experience, there was no way he was letting Rimmer anywhere near nuclear missiles. He wasn’t going to risk Arkeon going the same way as Waxworld.

To his surprise, parliament approved most of Rimmer’s requests. Even the panic bunker got a green light, and surveys were to be carried out to determine the feasibility of escape tunnels under Zenito. “Are people really that scared?” he asked Flaubèrt in private. “I mean, not that I agree with Lang, but a large-scale attack does seem unlikely.”  
“It never hurts to be prepared for all eventualities. The ministers decided that it was better to have the options and not need them than the other way around. But it wasn’t unanimous.” Flaubèrt showed him two local newspapers. One headline read ‘ **Parliament approves bold new measures to protect Zenito!** ’; the other read ‘ **Parliament vote to squander YOUR tax money on frivolous scaremongering!** ’.  
“Well, you can’t please everyone,” Lister commented wryly.  
“Quite so. Mister Rimmer should be pleased though.”  
“I imagine he will be, for five minutes. I just hope it doesn’t go to his head, or spur him on to start making more ridiculous demands. I can only support him so far.”

“Have you seen him since he started his new role?” Flaubèrt asked. “Does he seem content?”  
“No, I haven’t seen him,” Lister toyed with the snake ring. “But we’d know all about it if he wasn’t content. Trust me.”  
“Well then, it all seems to have worked out rather nicely.”  
“Yeah,” Lister agreed quietly. “I suppose.”  
“You sound unsure.”  
Lister forced a smile, “Let’s not take anything for granted just yet. When it comes to Rimmer, literally anything could happen.”  
“My, my. If I didn’t know better, your Majesty, I might think you were missing him.”  
“It’s a good job you know better then, isn’t it?”  
“They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”  
“They say all kinds of things,” Lister countered dismissively. “I can’t pretend it’s not a bit weird, not having him around; but you were right, it’s better this way. A bit of breathing space is good. Healthy.”  
“Good.”  
“For me, anyway. Clacket might still kill him.”  
“I’m sure everything will be fine.”

_Three months later..._

The door of the debate chamber burst open. Lister’s head jerked up as he became aware that some-thing more interesting than planning regulations was happening. The chamberlain stood, annoyed, “What is the meaning of this interruption?”  
“I apologise, my lady, but this is an emergency. We are under attack. A tribe of GELFs have breached our defences.” 

Panic started to spread through the room like rising floodwater. “How?” the chamberlain demanded.  
“They appear to have stolen or hijacked three merchant ships which left Arkeon yesterday. We don’t know the fate of the original crew. They landed in the mountains last night and made a stealth approach so as not to raise the alarm. Thankfully, the recently installed night-vision cameras captured their arrival and a squadron went out to head them off from the city, but they were outnumbered. The survivors have retreated back to the defence base, but they’re surrounded. They’ve sent out an SOS requesting urgent backup.” Lister’s heart thudded.

The chamberlain straightened up and faced the assembled ministers. “Parliament is dismissed. Members of the war council please proceed immediately to the King’s Chamber for a private summit.”  
Lister sat fidgeting at the round table with the selected ministers who made up the war council, and the messenger. “What are we doing?” he hissed to Flaubèrt. “We need to get out there and help them, man! Not chat about it over tea and biscuits!”  
“Protocol must be followed, your Majesty. A course of action must be agreed upon.”  
“How hard can it be? We go out there and kick their smegging arses. End of!”  
“It’s not quite that simple...”

The chamberlain addressed the messenger. “Brief us of the current situation as succinctly as possible, if you please.”  
“The transmission from the base estimates an invasion force of around three hundred. There are currently two hundred soldiers inside the base, and they have access to sufficient weaponry to make a stand, but the GELFs took a number of hostages from the initial squadron. They are demanding an unconditional surrender by sundown, or they kill them.”  
“How many soldiers do we have in reserve in the provinces and the city?”  
“Maybe five hundred.”  
“That’s all?” Lister blurted out. “That’s our entire army?”  
“We’ve never _needed_ an army before now.”  
“I’m gonna strangle Rimmer. He asked for a smegging nuclear deterrent, but never thought to ask for more soldiers.”  
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Flaubèrt said. “Without those cameras he requested, the base would have been taken completely by surprise; and inside that bunker they’ve got everything they would need for a six month long siege.”  
Lister cast a pointed look at Lang. “Thank heavens for that totally unnecessary expensive bunker, right?” Lang squirmed awkwardly.

“How many hostages?” Flaubèrt asked.  
“Twenty.”  
“We can’t risk the lives of every soldier in that base, and every person on this planet for twenty hostages,” one minister said grimly. “We need to attack.”  
“We can’t just sell them down the river!” Lister protested.  
“They’re soldiers. They knew the risks.”  
“That’s not an excuse.”  
“You think we should surrender?”  
“I think we should negotiate.”  
“With GELFs?”  
“We can try. Think about it. Why are they here? They aren’t interested in land or politics. They want our blood. Those hostages are worth more to them alive than dead. We all are. If we can offer them a deal - blood without the bloodshed - they might be willing to talk.”  
“His Majesty has a point,” Flaubèrt agreed. “With our reserve forces we outnumber them. If they’re smart then they’ll at least consider it.”  
“And if not?”  
“Then we fight and we both risk much bigger losses.”

“Very well,” the chamberlain nodded. “By a show of hands, who votes that we attempt negotiations before we attack?” All but two of those assembled raised their hands. “Motion carried. We will send out the call for all troops to assemble at the defence base and to be ready to fight if necessary. Flaubèrt, see if you can get parliament to agree on what kind of offer we can make them.”  
“What about me?” Lister asked.  
“We’ll put together a speech for you to address the public. Let them know what’s happening but try to downplay the risks. We don’t want a panic.”  
“I don’t have time for speeches! My friend is out there!”  
“Your Majesty, surely you’re not suggesting that you should accompany the delegation.” The Chamberlain looked horrified.  
“Of course I smegging should! I’m the king! I’m supposed to lead!”  
“Yes, but...in spirit. A nice rousing speech to give heart to the people and the troops will go a long way to keeping morale up.”  
“I can do both.”

“I must agree with the chamberlain,” Flaubèrt said. “It’s admirable that you want to lead by example, but it’s totally out of the question.”  
“Why?” Lister demanded.  
“Have you never played chess? You defend the king at all costs.”  
“This isn’t chess and those people aren’t pawns to be sacrificed; and I am not a game piece to be moved around as you see fit.”  
“You are the last surviving member of the royal family. You have no children, no heir. If anything happens to you out there, the monarchy is finished. You have a responsibility to protect the crown.”  
“What about my responsibility to protect my people? My friend?”  
“That’s what the army are for. We made you king to be a symbol of hope for the people, and we can’t risk them losing that hope. I understand your frustration, but your duty lies elsewhere.”

Flaubèrt stood, “I will return in one hour with a deal for negotiation. You,” he addressed the messenger, “send word to the troops. The rest of you should work on His Majesty’s speech.” He turned to leave.  
“Henry,” Lister said desperately. Flaubèrt looked at him, surprised by the use of his first name. “You have been a good friend to me through all of this madness. Please try and understand. My friend is out there on that base, and he’s there because of me.”  
“I do understand,” he sighed. “And I hope to be your friend for many years to come. But I am also the Prime Minister and you are the king; and Arkeon - and the people - must come before all else. That’s what duty means.” He left.

Lister watched him go, and in his head he heard Rimmer’s voice once again. _Sooner or later you’re going to have to learn to rule with your head and not your heart._  
“Your Majesty,” the chamberlain prompted, “Your speech.”  
Lister swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Fine,” he said stiffly. “Let’s write a speech.”


	17. Chapter 17

Precisely ninety minutes later, Lister found himself standing once more in front of the palace, confronted by cameras, drones and most of the city.  But this time the mood could not have been more different. There were no cheers, no flags. The crowd were edgy and anxious, and the dark mood made Lister nervous.  He remembered Rimmer’s warning, ‘ _Put a foot wrong and next thing you know you’re getting marched to the guillotine_ ’. Today those words felt a lot less ridiculous. For all his new-found status, he was just one man.  Ultimately, he realised, it’s always the people who have the power. He headed to the microphone, clutching his speech notes.   
  
“Are you ready, your Majesty?” Flaubèrt checked.   
“Yeah,” Lister replied shortly.  “I think so.”   
“Very well, then let’s begin.  We don’t have much time.” He gave the briefest of introductions, “His Majesty, King David.”  The crowd applauded sombrely.   
Lister took the floor, remembering the last time he’d done this, with his friends standing behind him; and remembering the one who was missing today.   _Enunciate_.   
  
“Thank you all for attending at such short notice.  I know that rumours are already circulating and people are worried, so I will get straight to the point.  Our defences have been breached and the base outside the city is currently under attack by a large tribe of GELFs.”  He held up a hand to gently shush the rising murmurs of fear. “Right now there is no immediate danger to the city, but we are recommending that all citizens go straight home after this address and keep a close eye on the media over the next few hours in case we need to give any safety instructions.  I know many of you will be afraid for friends and family who are stationed at the defence base, and I too share that pain. So far we have no confirmed reports of fatalities, and hope to keep it that way. I can assure you that we are doing everything we can to bring this conflict to as swift an end as possible.  Reserve troops will be heading out to the base within the hour, but we still have hopes that the situation can be resolved diplomatically.”   
  
Lister looked down at the carefully typed sheet of paper in front of him, paused for a second, then discreetly scrunched it up in his fist.  He faced the crowd resolutely. “I believe that as your king it is my duty and responsibility to lead any such discussions, and indeed any military action necessary should diplomacy fail.  Parliament, perhaps understandably, feel differently. As the only surviving member of the royal family, they are unwilling to take any unnecessary risks with my safety, which I appreciate.  But I don’t believe my life is worth a penny more than anyone else’s, crown or no crown.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Kryten and smiled faintly, “A friend once told me that blood only tells you where you came from, not who you are.  A true leader does not need the right DNA, they just need to _lead_. If I’m not willing to do that, then I’m not worthy of being your king; and if I die doing it then you don’t need to waste another three million years looking for someone else with noble blood.  You just need to find someone with a noble spirit. But it’s not up to me.” Lister steeled himself. “A king serves his people above all else. So I’m going to leave the decision to you. If you want me to stay in the palace and do my duty by protecting the royal bloodline then so be it.  But if you want me to go out there and fight for you, for Arkeon, for everybody out on that base who we care about, then tell me now. The king awaits your decision.”   
  
There was a moment or two of hushed murmuring in the crowd, as the people tried to process what was happening.  Lister waited, still clutching his abandoned speech in one tense clenched fist. He didn’t dare look back at his ministers.  Finally a lone voice bellowed out of the crowd. “FIGHT!”   
  
Slowly it became a chant.  “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”   
  
Lister grinned triumphantly.  He stepped away from the microphone and bowed to the crowd.  They cheered rapturously as he walked away back to the palace doors.  Flaubèrt was waiting, along with the rest of his aghast advisors. He gave Lister a look that skewed somewhere between annoyed and grudgingly impressed.  “Well played, your Majesty,” he remarked dryly.   
  
“What have you done?” Lang exclaimed furiously.   
“My duty,” Lister snapped back.  “If you want to fight about it, talk to them.”  He gestured to the cheering crowd.   
“It seems that the people have spoken,” Flaubèrt acknowledged.   
“Yep.  Looks like you’d better find me a horse,” Lister replied haughtily.   
“A horse?”   
“Yeah.  You know, to ride to the battle.”   
“The defence base is about 65 miles away, your Majesty.  It would take several hours on horseback. It’s probably better if we drive.”   
“Oh.  I suppose that makes sense.”  Lister deflated a bit. “Well, whatever.  Let’s go.”   
  
“Oh, Sir!” Kryten hugged him tearfully.  “You remembered what I said! I’m so proud I could overload!”   
“You were right as always, Kryters.”  Lister fist-bumped him.   
“This is all well and good, but I would have appreciated some warning,” Cat complained.  “How am I supposed to create a gorgeous hand-crafted royal suit of armour in the next thirty minutes?”   
“I think a bullet-proof vest might be more useful and appropriate,” Flaubèrt suggested.  “I’m sure we have plenty of those.”   
“I guess I have some tunics on standby that would fit over the top of one of those,” Cat grumbled, “ _Fortunately_.”   
“Thank god for that,” Lister said.  “I was worried for a moment.”   
“You’re lucky I’m so organised.”   
  
“Right,” Lister clapped his hands, “Flaubèrt, sort me out some gear so I don’t die.  Cat, grab me something stylish so if I _do_ die, at least I’ll look good doing it. Kryten, brush up on your GELF dialects, we’re gonna need you to translate negotiations.  And someone fetch me my crown.”   
“Really, your Majesty?” Flaubèrt raised an eyebrow.  “Would a helmet not be a wiser choice?”   
“GELFs are tribal.  They respect hierarchy.  Besides, if the king is going to ride into battle...”   
“Drive.”   
“Whatever.  He’s got to look the part.  That’s what the people will expect, and that’s what I’m going to give them.”   
“This is utter madness!” Lang protested.   
“No,” Lister retorted.  “This is _politics_. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this it’s that politics - just like royalty - is mostly people with no clue pretending they know what they’re doing.  It’s all a big act, and if we’re going to pull this off, in front of the people and the enemy, then I need my costume.” He looked to Flaubèrt. “I need to look like solid wood.”   
“I can’t say I exactly approve of any of this,” Flaubèrt said, clearly trying not to smile, “but you may have a point.  Lang, arrange to have the crown fetched from the safe.”   
“Prime Minister, how can you support this lunacy?”   
“It’s my job to support His Majesty in his endeavours, no matter how unconventional.”   
“Unconventional?  He’s making a mockery of protocol and...”   
“Lang,” Lister interrupted firmly.  “As king, I order you to shut the smeg up and do as the man says, or I’m calling it treason.  Get. My. Crown.”   
Lang looked around at the glowering faces surrounding him, then looked to the other ministers for support.  They all suddenly seemed to be looking intently elsewhere. He gave up. “Yes, your Majesty.”   
  
Cat nudged Lister cheerfully as they walked back into the palace, “Looks like you’re really starting to get the hang of this kinging business, Buddy.”   
“Thanks,” Lister replied tensely.  “Let’s just hope I don’t get myself or anyone else killed before I really hit my stride.”   
  
They drove out to the base in a convoy of huge black military jeeps.  Lister, crowned and draped in a velvet tunic embroidered with a golden ouroboros (hiding a much less attractive but far more functional combat vest), watched the countryside roll past the window as they left the city.  Cat and Kryten were in the back. Flaubèrt sat quietly beside him. Despite his muted support at the palace, Lister was still waiting for some kind of lecture, or at the very least a pointed comment about what he’d done, but so far nothing.  It was actually stressing him out a bit. It felt like waiting outside the headteacher’s office.   
  
The jeeps fanned out in a crescent formation about a quarter of a mile from the base and the troops assembled.  Lister peered through his binoculars at the GELF camp surrounding the base. “What do you reckon, Kryten? They aren’t Kinitawowi, thank smeg.”   
“From the gorilla-like heads I’d guess they’re the H’runghir, Sir.”   
“Can you talk to them?”   
“I expect so.”   
“Great, in that case maybe we should...”   
  
There was the sudden bang of a gunshot and mud and grass flew up into the air a few feet away from the line of jeeps.  “Woah!” Lister exclaimed, affronted. “They shot at us!”   
“I didn’t see anyone fire, Sir, and I have zoom mode fully engaged.”  One of the soldiers went to investigate. He picked something up off the ground and brushed the dirt off it.  “What’s this?”   
  
Lister dashed over, snatched it out of his hands, pressed a button and tossed it into the air.  Rimmer appeared, clutching his head. “Ow!”   
“Are you okay?” Lister asked, alarmed.   
“No!  That hurt!”   
“What happened?”   
“Nobody could get out of the base to liaise with you, so they decided to send me.  Via bazookoid. Gits.”   
“Made a lot of friends then while you were away,” Lister remarked sweetly.   
“No-one ever likes the guy who’s there to assess the workplace, do they?  They should be thanking me. They’re all grateful for that bunker now, let me tell you.”   
“Mmmm.  And I’m sure you made a point of reminding everybody.”   
“You bet I did.”   
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay.  I was worried about you,” Lister admitted grudgingly.   
“I should think so!”   
  
“Mister Rimmer,” Flaubèrt interrupted firmly, “do you have intelligence to share with us?”   
“Always a first time for everything,” Cat remarked.   
“Nothing much that you don’t already know, I imagine.  But the soldiers in the base are prepped and ready to fight if you send up a flare.”   
“Hopefully that won’t be necessary.  We’re hoping to negotiate a truce.”   
“Really?”   
“Flaubèrt has a treaty drawn up,” Lister explained.  “We just need to arrange a parlay.”   
“A treaty?  Those clots won’t read a treaty!  They’ll rip his arms off and use them to beat him to death the moment he walks in there.”   
“Well, then,” Lister mused.  “If it’s not safe to send Flaubèrt in to negotiate we’ll have to send someone else.  Someone they _can’t_ hurt.”   
“Like who?”   
  
“I should have stayed in the smegging bunker!” Rimmer complained as he and Kryten headed down to the GELF camp.  “I was safe in the bunker.”   
“You’re not really in a great deal of danger now, Sir.  They can’t damage your hard-light drive. Although they could do a fair amount of damage to me.”   
“Did you hear him?” Rimmer continued.  “He’s got the nerve to say he was worried about me, right before sending me off into the lions den.”   
“Sir, I really don’t think...”   
“If he’d just let me stay in the palace, none of this would be happening.”   
“That’s not quite true.  The GELFs would still have...”   
“All I wanted was to potter around and practice my sketching.  But no. His _Majesty_ decided I needed a job. And now here I am heading into the jaws of death - metaphorically - to negotiate a hostage situation.  God, this is the worst.”   
  
Kryten gave a deep sigh and let him continue with his rant.  The prospect of having his head wrenched off by GELFs was starting to seem more attractive every second.


	18. Chapter 18

Rimmer and Kryten made their way nervously into the GELF camp.  Within moments, a menacing group of H’runghir had surrounded them.  Rimmer gulped and placed himself behind Kryten. “Now, don’t worry, Sir.  Just let me do the talking.”   
“That’s the plan.  You’re the translator.”   
“Oh.  Yes, of course.”     
  
Kryten cleared his throat and addressed the GELFs in his best accent.  “Good evening, Sirs. I am here with glad tidings. The king has sent me to you with an offer of peace.  May we speak with your leader?” They stared at him belligerently for a moment longer, before the largest grunted incoherently at one of the others, who grumbled and headed to one of the tents.  He returned with a huge companion, who glared at them. “What do you want?”   
“Oh, mighty one.  We have come to offer you wonderful gifts on behalf of our king.”   
The GELF snorted.  “We have no need for your bribes.  We will take what we want from this land and you cannot stop us.”   
“But why go to the effort of fighting, when we offer so much for so little?”   
“What’s he saying?” Rimmer demanded.   
“He’s playing hardball, Sir.  I’m doing my best to win him round.”   
“This was a bad idea.  The big ugly brute isn’t going to haggle with you.  I _told_ them this was pointless.”   
“You were correct,” the GELF said.   
  
Rimmer and Kryten stared at him, frozen.  The gorilla-like face broke into a crooked grin.  “Yes, I speak your language, tiny weasel man. I have a fondness for the old stories of your people.”   
“Really?  How fascinating!” Kryten chirped.  “You have studied the classics?”   
“Indeed, all of them.   _Singing In The Rain. Calamity Jane.  High School Musical_. Your ancient culture fascinates me.”   
“I wasn’t aware your species had an appreciation for music.”   
“We don’t.  Frankly, I can’t understand how the human race survived as long as it did, the amount of time they seemed to spend singing.”   
“Ah.”   
“Listen,” Rimmer smiled as charmingly as he could, “when I said you were a big ugly brute, what I meant by that was...”   
“Save your breath.  Your flattery will get you nowhere.  We will not negotiate.”   
“Will you not at least hear our terms?” Kryten asked.   
“You cannot offer us more than we can take if we are victorious.  And we will be.”   
“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Even if you win, you risk losing many of your number in the process.”   
“Then there will be greater spoils for the strong who survive!”   
  
“I’ve had enough of this,” Rimmer folded his arms.  “You are deluded if you think you can actually win.”   
“Mr Rimmer, I think it’s better if I...”   
“You are outnumbered and outgunned.  The only reason we haven’t charged straight down here and splattered the lot of you is because we don’t want to risk the hostages you took last night.  And you sure as smeg don’t want to kill them, because they’re valuable. Twenty healthy adult humans? That could set your entire tribe up for the next fifty years or more.”   
“Your point?”   
“You have two options.  Fight and lose everything, or negotiate and get rich quick.  It’s really not that hard.”   
  
The GELF narrowed his already narrow eyes.  “You think we won’t kill the hostages?”   
“You’d be thicker than chip shop curry sauce if you did.  They’re the only thing keeping our army back, and frankly they’re worth more to you than to us.”   
“Mr Rimmer!”   
“Well, it’s true.  Humans can always make more humans.  GELFs can’t.”   
“That may take the trophy for the most despicable thing I’ve ever heard you say, Sir.  And that’s saying something.”   
The chief turned and muttered with his companions for a moment.  “What are they saying?” Rimmer asked.   
“I’m not sure.  I can’t hear.”   
Eventually, the chief turned back to them.  “If we _were_ to consider negotiating, what could you offer us?”   
“Twenty pints of human blood every month in perpetuity.  You don’t have the hassle of keeping the livestock fed and watered, you get the full amount every month without having to worry about losing out if one of them becomes ill or even dies.  And you don’t have to risk the lives of any of your tribe.”   
“And in return?”   
“You release the hostages, and do your part to protect your investment.  You protect Arkeon from any outside threats, including discovery by other GELFs or simulants.”   
  
The chief muttered with his companions again.  “We want fifty pints.”   
“Twenty is enough.”   
“Forty.”   
“Did I smegging stutter?”   
“Thirty.”   
“We won’t go higher than twenty-five.”   
“We still have your hostages.”   
“Who we have already established you won’t kill.”   
“You think you are the only ones skilled in negotiations?  I told you, I am familiar with your culture. I have studied the art of human manipulation.”   The chief barked an order to one of the others. “Bring it!”   
“Bring what?” Rimmer asked nervously.   
  
The subordinate GELF returned clutching something in one gnarled paw.  The chief snatched it and held it up to Rimmer and Kryten’s disbelieving eyes.  It was a picture - a photograph to be exact - of an extremely cute and fuzzy, joyful-looking puppy dog.  “This is an undeveloped canine mammal of some description,” the chief explained to them. “It’s name, for reasons I do not understand, is Mister Cookiepants.”  He stared at them, his expression serious and voice grave. “If you do not agree to our terms, we have reason to believe it will make this animal sad.”   
  
Rimmer and Kryten simultaneously let out their breath.  “That’s it?” Rimmer squawked. “That’s the best you can do?  It’s not even a real puppy! It’s just a picture of one, and it’s probably over a million years old.”   
“The metal man is right.  You are clearly a despicable person.”   
“Enough jibber-jabber.  Do you agree to our terms?”   
“No.”  The GELF folded his arms.  “To accept such a pitiful offering and become beholden to the humans would be a humiliation to our tribe.”   
“Okay,” Rimmer shrugged.  “Die then. See if that’s less humiliating.”   
“Wait.”  The chief held up a paw.  “I will make you a final offer to take back to your king.  We will accept your terms on one condition only. Your king must defeat me in one-to-one combat.”   
“Seriously?” Rimmer raised an eyebrow.  “It’s a bit clichè, isn’t it?”   
“If he cannot defeat me then he is not worthy of the tribes’ loyalty.  If he does, then we will accept your offer and protect your people.”   
  
“Well, that could have gone worse,” Kryten said cheerfully as they headed back towards Lister and the troops.   
“It didn’t go _great_.  We didn’t get a deal, but we’re both in one piece, so I’m calling it a win.”   
“You know, Mr Rimmer, I had my doubts about you dealing with negotiations but I must say I’m impressed.”   
“Thanks a heap.”   
“Well, I just assumed your generally objectionable nature and overall smegginess might prove to be an issue, Sir.  But on reflection you may have been the best person for the job. Had his Majesty been in charge of negotiations, I fear Mr Cookiepants may have proved our undoing.”   
“Even Lister’s not that soppy, Kryten.”   
“I’m not sure, Sir.  Remember the _Lion King_ debacle?  They weren’t real lions and he still cried his poor little eyes out.”   
“Well, he’d better toughen up fast, because it looks like the smeg is about to hit the fan, and there’s more than imaginary animals at stake now.”   
  
“What happened?  You weren’t gone very long.”  Lister pressed when they returned.   
“I’m afraid the GELFs were somewhat uncooperative, Sir.”   
“No deal?”   
“Not one that’s feasible, no.”   
Lister sighed heavily and shared a despondent look with Flaubèrt.  “Smeg. I really thought they’d be reasonable.”   
“Perhaps another offer could be drafted?”   
“It’s not about the offer,” Kryten shook his head, “It’s about pride.  They don’t want to seem weak by deferring to humans, even for the benefits they’d get out of it.”   
“Ugh.  Stubborn arseholes,” Lister folded his arms.  “So we have no choice. We have to fight and put all of the soldiers and the hostages at risk.”   
“Let’s just look at all the options first,” Flaubèrt said.  “You said they weren’t willing to make a _feasible_ deal. What does that mean exactly?”   
  
“Oh, the chief said they’d agree to the terms if - ow! - Kryten, watch where you’re sticking your damn pointy elbows.”   
“I’m sorry, Mr Rimmer, it must have just been a small glitch in my arm circuits.”   
“Anyway, he said they would only accept a deal if - ow!  You did it again!”   
“I’m sorry, Sir.  I don’t know what can be wrong with me.  Perhaps it’s a serious fault. We should probably drop this topic and examine me right away.”   
“Kryten,” Lister said sternly, “you’re not fooling anyone.  Lives are at stake here, man. You have to tell us everything.”   
“Oh, but it’s so silly.  It’s a waste of time even bringing it up.”   
“Spit it out, guys.”   
Kryten whined fretfully.  Rimmer rolled his eyes. “He’s right, it’s bloody stupid, but the chief says they will accept the treaty without a massive battle if you fight him one-to-one.  And win obviously.”   
  
Lister blinked in surprise, “Well, that’s not exactly the diplomatic result we were hoping for.”   
“Indeed not.” Flaubèrt agreed.   
“It seems like we’re out of options,” Lister said wearily.   
“Sadly, I think you’re right.”   
“Guess I’m just gonna have to kick a GELF’s arse.”   
“WHAT?” Rimmer and Flaubèrt exploded together.   
“I knew it!  I knew you shouldn’t have told him!” Kryten wailed.   
  
“Are you stark raving mad?” Rimmer trilled.   
“If it avoids a huge fight and a ton of potential casualties then it’s the sensible thing to do.”   
“Sensible?  What part of getting into a scrap with an enormous ape-mutant is sensible?!”   
“I must agree with Mr Rimmer, your Majesty,” Flaubèrt said urgently.  “I admire your zeal, and have done my best to support you in your unusually hands-on approach to this situation, but this is going too far.  I simply cannot permit this.”   
“I don’t need your permission.  I’m not trying to get parliamentary approval for a military manoeuvre here!  I’m just putting the smack down on some jerk who’s trying to muscle in on my turf.”   
“That may be all well and good down The Aigburth Arms on a Saturday night, Lister, but when you’re a king it’s an act of war!”   
“I’m trying to _prevent_ an even bigger act of war.”   
“You aren’t going to help anyone by getting yourself mangled.”   
“What?” Lister drew himself up, affronted.  “You don’t think I can take that guy?”   
“He is quite a lot bigger than you, Sir.”   
“Not that much bigger.”   
“He’s seven feet tall!” Rimmer shrieked.   
“Hey, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”   
  
“Your Majesty, I really must protest...!” Flaubèrt said desperately.   
“I told the people I was willing to fight for them,” Lister reminded him.  “This is where I prove it.”   
“And what happens if you get your head punched clean off your shoulders?” Rimmer sniped.   
“Then Flaubèrt sends the cavalry in and we do things the messy way.”   
“We don’t have any cavalry, your Majesty.  I’m not sure where this fixation with horses has come from.”   
“It’s a figure of speech!  Look, if we can get this done my way, without the mess, it’s better for everyone.”   
“And probably a lot more entertaining,” Cat remarked.   
“But...!”   
“No.  Enough.  No more arguing.  I’m doing this.”   
“Sir, no!”  Kryten pleaded.  “It will...It will make Mister Cookiepants sad!” he blurted out in desperation.   
“What?  Who? Look, never mind.  The king has spoken.” Lister started to march purposefully down the path to the GELF camp.   
  
“What do we do?” Flaubèrt asked, dismayed.   
“Flaubèrt, while I was gone, you didn’t happen to build that dungeon he was joking about, or reintroduce the death penalty?” Rimmer asked.   
“No, of course not.”   
“Then I suggest that we commit an act of treason before he reaches that camp.  Who’s in?”   
“I’m not sure I can, Sir!” Kryten protested.  “My programming forbids it!”   
“Your programming forbids you from letting a human come to harm.  He’s about to get himself killed.”   
“Good point, Sir.”   
“Cat?”   
“I’m good just to watch.  It’ll be fun either way.”   
“Seriously?” Rimmer glared at him.   
“Oh, _fine_.  Only because I don’t want him getting blood on the outfit.”   
“Right,” Rimmer said.  “Gentlemen, stop the king!”   
  
The four of them tore down the path and grabbed Lister.  “Hey!” he thrashed angrily. “Put me down!”   
“We are not letting you do this!  You have clearly taken leave of your senses and we are removing you from service,” Rimmer told him.   
“You can’t remove the king from service!  I’m not a smegging vending machine!”   
“Can and am!”   
“This is heresy!”   
“Nope.  That’s the church.”   
“Mutiny!”   
“Ships.”   
“Treason!”   
“Yep.  But we had a vote and we’re ok with it.”   
“Fine!  If you won’t let me down there, I’ll get him up here.”   
  
Lister took a deep breath and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “COME ON THEN IF YOU THINK YER HARD ENOUGH!!!”  The words echoed across the valley. The rebellion froze in astonishment.   
“What was that?” Rimmer exclaimed in horror and disbelief.   
“The war cry of my people,” Lister replied smugly.   
“Maybe they didn’t hear,” Flaubèrt said hopefully.   
From down in the camp, a deep roar echoed back.  “Guys,” Cat said, “maybe I’m being paranoid. But I thiiiiiink they might have heard.”   
  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

The two factions faced each other across a grassy divide.  The human troops stood silent and poised, while the GELFs snarled and rattled their weapons.  Their chief emerged from the throng and strode forward. “Come then, you snivelling wretches. Where is your king?  He spoke fighting words so let him hold to them! I am here and I am _extremely_ hard!”   
  
“Ugh,” Cat remarked.  “There’s an image I could have lived without.”  They were behind the line of troops and Lister was still being forcibly restrained by his companions.  “Let me go! They’re gonna think I chickened out!”   
“Surely there has to be a diplomatic solution to this,” Flaubèrt said desperately.   
“Sod diplomacy!” Rimmer barked.  “You’re the Prime Minister! The bastards are right in front of us!  Give the order to open fire!”   
“Don’t you dare!” Lister countered furiously.  “I will not go down in history as the king who tricked his opponents into a massacre!”   
“And we’re not letting you go down in history as the king who got snapped in half like a breadstick for being a scrappy scouse gobshite,” Rimmer told him.   
“I can handle this!”   
  
“We will not wait forever, king!” the chief boomed.  “If you do not come out, our tribe will attack and we shall make glorious war, and feed this field with the blood of your people!”   
“Hear that?” Lister demanded, finally shaking loose his captors.  “This is about to kick off in a bad way. I can still stop it. _Let_ me stop it.”   
“We cannot stand by and let you sacrifice yourself, your Majesty,” Flaubèrt protested.   
“What did you say to me just this morning?  ‘Arkeon - and the people - must come before all else’.  And _you_ ,” he turned on Rimmer, “you gave me that whole lecture about how I needed to take my duty more seriously.  This is as serious as it gets.”   
“Is that why you’re doing this?  Because of what happened with us?” Rimmer demanded, then remembering their audience added, “I mean...with that silly little spat we had?  Because you’re trying to prove something to me?”   
“No,” Lister said, glaring at him poisonously.  “That’s not why. Don’t flatter yourself.”    
“Sir,”  Kryten whimpered.  “Please don’t go!”   
“For smeg’s sake.  Relax, all of you. I’ve got this.”  Lister squared his shoulders confidently and straightened his crown.   “I’m the king.”    
“You’ve lost your mind,” Rimmer said, face pale.  “ _Please_ , just let the troops fight.”   
“You told me I needed to step up and take responsibility for once in my life,” Lister replied coldly.  “So that’s what I’m doing.” He turned on his heel and marched out to meet the H’runghir chief.   
“This is not responsible!” Rimmer yelled after him.  “This is the exact _opposite_ of responsible! _Lister_!”   
  
“How am I ever going to explain this to parliament?” Flaubèrt said limply.  “I should never have let him come.”   
“It’s not your fault, Sir,” Kryten sniffed, patting his arm sympathetically.  “It’s _Mr Rimmer’s_ fault for telling him in the first place.” He glowered pointedly at Rimmer.   
“Don’t blame me!”   
“Why not?” Cat asked, “it’s usually your fault when anything crappy happens.”   
“Why would you tell him he was irresponsible and get him all upset?” Kryten scolded.   
Rimmer faltered.  He couldn’t very well explain the circumstances behind _that_ particular fight.  “It’s Lister!” he flubbed. “Since when has he ever been Mr Responsible? He never thinks anything through!  Besides, you know what he’s like. That stupid moral compass of his points straight to ‘suicidal’. I always said that smegging noble streak would get him killed one day.”   
“Hey,” Cat tapped Flaubèrt on the shoulder.  “If Gerbil-Face gets flattened, do we still get to live in the palace?”   
  
Lister walked out onto the battlefield and faced the chief.  The GELFs jeered aggressively as he approached, but he ignored them.  He squared up to the leader and lifted his chin defiantly. “You’re on my turf and messing with my people, Ape-Face.  You wanna rumble? Fine. But first you’re going to have to go through me.”   
“You?” the GELF snarled in disbelief.  “ _You_ are the king of these people? I have eaten things bigger than you, and you dare to challenge me?”   
“I’m not afraid of you,” Lister scoffed.  “I come from a great and noble bloodline. You and your tribe are nothing more than dirty scavengers.  Frankly, I can’t believe you dare challenge _me_. You think you’re fit to fight a king?”   
“I am more than fit!” the chief raged.  “I will crush you like the tiny insignificant ant that you are!  If you have an atom of sense you will flee, just like Maria Von Trapp fled the nazis!”   
Lister blinked.  “That’s...not an analogy I was expecting,” he admitted, non-plussed.  “But if that’s how we’re doing the smack talk, then okay. You are weaker than Dick Van Dyke’s cockney accent, and you’re gonna lose like _La La Land_ lost at the oscars.”    
“This disrespect will not stand!” the chief roared.   
“So fight me.  That’s why we’re here, right?  Just keep it above the waist.” He looked down disparagingly, “Although that’s probably not an issue for you.”   
  
“What is he doing?” Rimmer clutched at his face.  “This is bad enough! Why is he taunting him?”   
“You will pay for your insults, you puny rat!”   
“You can’t hurt me,” Lister said haughtily.  “I am of royal blood and the crown protects me.”   
“I fear the power has gone to his head,” Flaubèrt said, dismayed.  “He’s totally lost his grip on reality.”   
  
The GELF lunged forward and grabbed Lister by the front of his tunic, lifting him off his feet and hauling him up to eye level.  “Your royal blood means nothing to me! It will spill the same as anyone else’s and it will not protect you from my fury.”   
Rimmer covered his face.  “Oh god. I can’t watch. I can’t watch!”   
Lister still seemed bizarrely unperturbed.  “I never said my blood protected me. I said the _crown_ protects me.  It carries a great weight in power and responsibility, but you know what else?  Solid gold is smegging heavy, pal.” He leaned into the chief’s face, pressing his nose into the gorilla-like snout.  “And you’re about to feel the full force of the Crown’s power.”    
  
Then he reared back and head-butted the GELF in the face with all his might.   
  
  
“….I think he’s waking up.”   
“Sir?  Sir? Your Majesty?  How are you feeling?”   
Lister reluctantly opened his eyes and squinted around him.  He was in his bed in the palace and his head ached. Rimmer and Kryten were by his side, watching him anxiously.  Lister sat up cautiously. “Ugh. Is this the part where you tell me I just had the weirdest fever dream of my life?”   
“I wish I could, Sir, but given the events of the last twelve hours, I suspect your memories are a mostly accurate reflection of reality.”   
“What am I doing here?  The last thing I remember is scrambling my brain like an egg by nutting that big bruiser.  What happened?”   
“You broke his nose and knocked him out cold, Sir.  You then spent a significant amount of time staggering around whooping, did the touch-up shuffle, loudly informed the unconscious GELF that you’d had conjugal relations with his mother, and lectured all present parties at length on the unwise nature of threatening your planet and your person.”   
“By which he means you pranced about for a full five minutes, chanting ‘That’s what you get!  That’s what you get for stepping to the crown, arseholes! Don’t mess with the king!”   
“Mmmm.  That sounds like me,” Lister admitted, smirking despite his headache.   
“After your er...victory lap, Sir, while the troops were celebrating, you wobbled back to us and informed us all that we were dirty faithless traitors, and also numpties, and that if you didn’t love us so much you’d have us all beheaded for not believing in your awesomeness; and also that you really, really wanted a kebab.  At that point we realised that apart from the elation of your victory, you also had quite a severe concussion, so Flaubèrt suggested we take you home to recover while he handled the subsequent negotiations.”   
  
Lister beamed at them smugly, “And you thought I couldn’t take that guy down.  Oh ye of little faith.”   
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Rimmer rolled his eyes.  “If things had gone differently you’d have been well and truly smegged.”   
“Please.  It went exactly to plan.  All of those ape-type GELFs have weak noses.  I’ve been to enough back-street poker games that went south to know that’s where to hit ‘em.”   
“But how did you know you’d be able to reach his nose, Sir?”   
“Because I’ve been in enough scraps even on Earth to know that’s what big blokes like him do, especially if there’s a crowd watching.  They pick you up to show off how big they are. It’s showboating. You let them feel big, then you cut them down to size.”   
“Ingenious, Sir.”   
“If not particularly classy,” Rimmer sniffed.   
“Hey, if the king does it then that _makes_ it classy.”   
  
Lister threw back the covers and ventured over to the mirror.  A dark circle of bruises had formed around his forehead. “Woah,” he touched it tentatively and winced.  “How long have I been out for?”   
“Just overnight.  Mr Rimmer and I kept an eye on you, as per doctor’s orders.  However the Prime Minister did say he would like a meeting with you once you were sufficiently recovered.”   
“I bet he would,” Lister pulled a face.  “Well, gotta face the music eventually. Might as well get it over with.  Kryten, go tell him I’ll meet him in my office in half an hour, would you?”   
“Very good, Sir.”   
  
“Are you sure you’re ready to start holding meetings of state?” Rimmer asked anxiously once Kryten had gone.  “You did have concussion.”   
“I’m fine.  You know me, I’ve got a head like concrete.”   
“And brains of gravel.  Why didn’t you tell us you had a plan?”   
“Why?  You still wouldn’t have approved.”   
“No, but at least we wouldn’t have been quite so terrified.  Kryten nearly short-circuited and Flaubèrt was this close to cardiac arrest.”   
“And you?” Lister smiled, raising an eyebrow.   
“Well, yes.  Obviously I was concerned too,” Rimmer folded his arms awkwardly.   
“Consider it a valuable lesson, Rimsy,” Lister retorted, heading into the bathroom.  He gave him a meaningful look before he closed the door. “Maybe instead of worrying about what might happen, you should try having a little more faith in me.  It’s just possible that sometimes things will work out okay.” He closed the door.   
  
“Your Majesty,” Flaubèrt stood and bowed as Lister entered the office.   
“Prime Minister.”   
“How is your head?”   
“Sore.  But there are always sacrifices to be made in war, right?” Lister risked a small smile.   
“Quite so.”   
“Sit down then.  Let’s have it out.”  Lister plopped into his chair and put his feet up on the table.  “I suppose I’m facing the sack?”   
“The sack, your Majesty?  Good heavens, no. You can’t sack the king.  Even if there were perhaps certain members of parliament who have...voiced concern over your methods, they couldn’t oust you, even if they wanted to.  To remove you from the throne they would need the support of the people and they would never get it. Your subjects love you, now more than ever.”   
“Really?”   
“Forgive me if I’m being impudent, but you sound almost disappointed.  Were you hoping for the sack?”   
“No.  No, of course not.  But I wouldn’t have been surprised.  I know I haven’t exactly played by the rules.  I certainly don’t make _your_ life easy.”   
“Indeed you do not,” Flaubèrt agreed mildly.   
Lister shrugged, “I wouldn’t have fought it, if that’s what they’d decided.  It would make my life easier too in some respects.”   
“I’m sure it would.  No-one ever said leading a nation would be easy.”   
“I was expecting a slapped wrist at least.”   
  
“Your Majesty,” Flaubèrt looked amused, “you single-handedly secured a major victory for Arkeon.   You not only saved the trapped soldiers and the hostages, but you also gained us the loyalty and protection of a fearsome tribe.  The H’runghir were so impressed by your quick and decisive defeat of their chief that they not only agreed to the terms, but have named you as their new leader.  You accomplished all of this without losing a single life on either side of the conflict. Most importantly of all, every soldier in our army, and every citizen of Arkeon knows that you risked your own life to protect them.  You are a national hero.”   
“To the people maybe.  What about parliament?”   
“Parliament know which way the wind is blowing.  They may not approve of how you got the job done, but it did get done.  They’ll turn a blind eye to the rest.”   
“I head butted a GELF in the face!”   
“You fought a noble battle and landed a devastating blow to your opponent and saved us all.  The fine details may have been sugar-coated somewhat.”   
“But everyone saw.  And the bruises are kind of a giveaway.”   
“Such events always become embellished in the retelling.”   
“I see.”     
  
Lister leaned forward, “And what about you?”   
“Me?”   
“I know you don’t approve of what I did.  Any of it.”   
“Speaking as Prime Minister, no, of course not.  Your actions were impetuous, foolhardy, unbelievably dangerous, and revealed both a stubbornness and disregard for authority that does not suit your position.  However,” he softened his tone, “speaking as a person, they also displayed a humanity and devotion to those you care about - and to your own sense of moral integrity - that the universe could use more of.”   
“So you don’t regret your part in handing the throne to a ‘scrappy Scouse gobshite’?”   
“You really shouldn’t let Mr Rimmer speak to you like that.”   
“He’s earned it, in his own way.  And he’s not _wrong_.” Lister grinned.   
Flaubèrt smiled back, “For what it’s worth: no.  In fact, I’m starting to think Queen Brisäis may have known _exactly_ what she was doing when she left the heir to the Protean legacy in Toxteth.”   
“Still friends then?”   
“I certainly hope so.”

  
Lister let out his breath, “So what happens now?”   
“I believe parliament are planning on giving you a medal.  No doubt it will be a grand occasion.”   
“If we’re throwing a party, there’s something I’d like to add to the mix.”   
“Name it, your Majesty.”   
  
Lister smiled to himself.   
  



	20. Chapter 20

The sound of golden trumpets filled the grand chamber.  Lister, clad in a scarlet double-breasted military jacket with tails and brocade, rose from the throne.  He bowed to the Chamberlain, careful not to let the crown fall from his head. The royal jeweller had only just got the last dent out after all.  “Your Majesty, in honour of your great victory, and in recognition of your exceptional bravery in defence of this nation, the people and parliament of Arkeon wish to present to you this medal.”  She carefully pinned the blue and red ribbon to his chest. The gold medallion depicted a snake, not curled into an ouroboros, but rearing up with its fangs bared. “You have the love and gratitude of us all.”  The room erupted in applause, and Lister turned and bowed graciously to the audience. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lang sitting with the other ministers in the front row, looking distinctly sour. Well, maybe not _absolutely_ all, but he could live with that.   
  
A nervous group of civilians mounted the dais and began unfurling a large roll of cloth.  “To commemorate the occasion, the local weavers guild have created a beautiful tapestry depicting your triumph in battle,” the chamberlain went on.  The heavy cloth was spread out and held up for Lister, and the rest of the crowd, to admire. A series of exquisitely embroidered panels showed a figure in a crown facing the menacing GELF chief, delivering a neat uppercut to its jaw, and the vanquished foe lying defeated on the ground.  Lister fought to keep a straight face. “That is _exactly_ how it happened,” he deadpanned. “It’s almost like you were there.” He heard the faintest suggestion of a knowing snicker roll discreetly around the room. The crown may have been mended, and the bruises faded, but he had a feeling the rumours about what had happened that day would persist for some time.  He hoped they would. “Thank you. I’ll have it mounted here in the grand chamber in pride of place.” He turned to the chamberlain. “And thank _you_. It is a privilege to serve such a wonderful nation as Arkeon, but it would be remiss of us not to recognise all of those who have played a part in this victory. Lady Chamberlain, I would be grateful if you would hand me my sword.”   
  
The chamberlain nodded, turned and took the jewelled ceremonial sword from the cushion held by her assistant, and presented it to Lister.  He took it by the hilt and held it aloft, trying hard not to grin with glee. Smeg, this was so much fun. The outfit, the crown, the sword.  It still felt so much like play acting, but with such fabulous props. He forced himself to concentrate. He’d been looking forward to this moment for weeks.   
  
“Of the many great merits of my position, the one I cherish most is the ability to reward those who are deserving.  It is therefore my great pleasure on this day, by the power invested in me as king, to bestow the honour and title of Knight of the Realm upon my most trusted advisors, for their loyalty and support to the crown and to Arkeon.”  He looked to his friends with a beaming smile, and was delighted by the looks of surprise and astonishment on their faces. “It gives me more joy than I can express to be able to share this day with all of you,” he said softly. “Mr Cat, will you please step forward.”   
  
“Ow!  Yeah!”  Cat spun eagerly onto the dais and dropped elegantly to one knee in front of Lister.   
“For your fealty, and your service to me - especially my wardrobe - I hereby dub thee Sir Cat.”  He touched the sword to Cat’s shoulders. “Arise, and go with the king’s blessing.” Cat shimmied jubilantly off the stage.   “Kryten 2X4B 523P, please step forward.” 

Kryten waddled nervously into place, and dropped awkwardly to one knee. “But your Majesty, I am a mere mechanoid!  I am not worthy of such an honour.”   
“Nonsense.  For your constant devotion and sage wisdom, I hereby dub thee Sir Kryten.  Arise, and go with the king’s blessing.”   
“Oh, thank you, your Majesty. Thank you!” Kryten bowed away.   
Lister turned and made eye contact with the final member of his posse.  “Mister Rimmer. Please step forward.” Rimmer, whiter than his gleaming dress uniform, gulped and did so.  He took the knee, and they shared a look that encompassed too many emotions to ever be put into words. Lister took a deep breath.  “Your contributions to our military helped to save many lives in this recent conflict. Therefore, for your companionship to me and your great service to Arkeon, I hereby dub thee Sir Arnold.”  He paused for just a fraction of a second. “...and also bestow upon you the title of Duke of Zenito.” Rimmer’s head snapped up in surprise. Lister smiled, “Arise, your Grace.” Rimmer got to his feet, dazed, and bowed deeply.  “Go,” Lister said gently, “with the king’s blessing.”    
  
Finally, he turned to his newest friend.  “Prime Minister, please step forward.”   
Flaubèrt blinked in surprise, but obeyed.  “Are you sure, your Majesty?” he whispered.   
“Of course.  No-one deserves it more.  For your loyalty, dedication, and unwavering patience, I hereby dub thee Sir Henry.  Go with the king’s blessing.”   
Flaubèrt stood and bowed before returning to his place beside the throne.  “I am deeply honoured.”   
Lister addressed the audience.  “Good people of Arkeon, please join me in raising a cheer for these fine men.  Huzzah!”   
“HUZZAH!” The crowd echoed back.  Lister sheathed his sword happily.  Now _this_ was what kinging was all about.   
  
As with every occasion, good and bad, the day eventually wound to a close.  Guests filed out, chairs were cleared away, glasses collected. Lister took himself out onto the balcony overlooking the park and gardens.  It was quiet and peaceful in the fading light. He closed his eyes, and listened to the trees rustling in the soft evening breeze. He felt a sudden sense of disorientation, as if the universe had spun itself around him while he wasn’t looking.  When he opened his eyes again, would he still be standing here? Would the sound of the trees become the hum of Starbug’s engines? Would he find himself in a pair of stained overalls, a dirty mug by the side of his bed, and a threadbare blanket covering him?  He carefully opened his eyes. Fireflies bobbed in the twilight, and he was still here. King David of Arkeon on the palace balcony, with his crown and medal, and a world quite literally at his feet. “How the smeg did I get here?” he murmured out loud to himself.   
“You’re asking me?” a familiar voice behind him answered.   
  
He turned and smiled softly.  “Your Grace.”   
“Your Majesty.”   
“How does it feel being a duke?”   
“Probably only marginally less weird than being a king.”  Rimmer joined him on the balcony. “You kept that under your hat, you sneaky git.  Or crown rather.”   
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”   
“It was.  Not that I’m not grateful, of course.  It just came as a bit of a shock, that’s all.”   
“You said you didn’t want a knighthood if everyone was getting one.  I thought I’d be generous and throw in a little added extra. Also it really pissed off a few ministers who’ve been getting on my wick recently, so it’s a win all around.”  He side-eyed him. “Just don’t let it go to your head.”   
“Me?   _Sir_ Cat is already designing his coat of arms.”   
“And I’m sure it will be fabulous.  What’s yours going to be?”   
“I don’t know.  I haven’t had time to even think about it yet.”   
“I’ve got some suggestions.” Lister leaned back against the balcony with a gently mocking smile, “How about a weasel in retreat against a background of starched Y-fronts on coat hangers?”   
“Yes, yes.  Very funny.”   
“Or if you wanted something with a more military feel, how about a pair of Risk dice, flanked by your long-service medals?”   
“At least I earned my medals through hard work and diligence, instead of undignified brawling.”   
“Excuse you, but that ‘undignified brawling’ has been widely recognised as ‘outstanding valour beyond the call of duty’.”  He smugly tapped the medal on his chest. “Says so right here.”   
“And I can’t believe you’re putting that tapestry on display in the grand chamber.  It’s brazenly inaccurate!”   
“Yeah, but it’s _funny_.”   
  
Rimmer glared at him, infuriated.  “You are absolutely shameless, aren’t you?  I know you just made me a knight and a duke but, by all the blood in Arkeon, I still really _really_ hate that you’re the king.”   
“I know,” Lister smiled sweetly.   
“You are an incorrigible little oik with absolutely no sense of class or propriety...”   
“Mm-hmm.’   
“...and the fact that you’re being rewarded - no, celebrated! - for that disgraceful performance, and that future generations will look at that tapestry and think that’s what happened, just makes my blood boil!”  Rimmer paused for breath. “Why are you still smiling at me like that?”   
“I’ve missed you,” Lister said simply.   
“Oh.”  Rimmer faltered.  “Really?”   
“Yeah.  Even if you are a cowardly smeghead who can’t be grateful for what he’s got and doesn’t know a good thing when it’s staring him in the face.”   
  
Rimmer sighed heavily and turned away to look out over the gardens.  “Well, I suppose maybe I’ve missed you too. A bit,” he admitted grudgingly.  “Nothing’s changed though, has it?”   
“You certainly haven’t.”   
“Nor have you.  If anything you’ve got worse, and I didn’t think that was possible.  Don’t let this escapade make you cocky. You’ve already made enemies in parliament and Flaubèrt won’t be Prime Minister forever.  Just because things worked out this time, doesn’t mean you’ve got free reign to do whatever you want.”   
“Or whoever I want?” Lister replied pointedly.   
“That too.  Look at this place, look around you.  Look at _yourself_. You’d risk throwing all of this away?”   
“Why not?  I don’t need all of this to be happy, I never did.  I was perfectly content with my life before I was royalty.  My only real problem was that I was lonely. And despite all of this,” he made a sweeping gesture around them, “that’s _still_ my only real problem.”   
“You’ve got a whole smegging planet in love with you.”   
“They love King David.  I want someone to love Dave Lister.  And nobody else knows that guy like you do.”  He put a hand over Rimmer’s on the railing. Rimmer looked at it, pained.   
  
“You’re a sentimental fool,” he said eventually.   
“And you’re just a fool.  Come _on_. Like I told you, have some faith in me.  We can still find a way to make this work.”   
“How?  Even if we could...be together, we still can’t have kids.”   
“So we’ll adopt!  Like Kryten told me, and like I told the people, noble blood means nothing without a noble spirit.  The royal succession, the bloodline, the whole damn Protean legacy, none of it means a damn thing. Not really.  All that matters is what kind of person - what kind of king - you are.”   
“I’m not so sure the people, or parliament, will agree.”   
“So let’s find out.  We’ll never know if we don’t try.”   
“But...”   
“Do you still want me?”   
“Of course, but...”. Lister stepped forward, and stopped the words firmly with a kiss.     
  
They held each other close in the twilight, as if all their fears and misgivings were sinking away with the sun, and Lister knew in his heart that nothing else would ever feel this right, or good.   
“Your Majesty.”     
  
They turned, still in each other’s arms, to see Flaubèrt standing in the doorway.


	21. Chapter 21

“I apologise for the interruption.”   
“Interruption?” Rimmer squeaked, leaping backwards.  “No, no! Not at all! Nothing to interrupt here!”   
“Rimmer, shut up.”  Lister grabbed his hand and held it tight.  He faced Flaubèrt resolutely. “Sir Henry.”   
“I merely came to congratulate you on a successful day and to offer my humble thanks for your kindness.  My wife is simply thrilled with the knighthood, as am I. However it would appear congratulations of a different kind are in order.”     
“What?  No, no! This?” Rimmer gabbled, holding up their linked hands. “This is not at all what it looks like.”   
“Yes, it is,” Lister contradicted him calmly.  “This is exactly what it looks like. This is how it is.  And anyone who doesn’t like it can kiss my royal ring.”   
“I see.  I’m very pleased for you both.”   
“I know it’s going to be hard to....”  Lister cut himself off, confused. “Wait.  What did you say?”   
“I’m very pleased for you both.  Heaven knows it’s taken you long enough, if it’s not too bold of me to say,” he added conscientiously.   
  
“You mean, you knew about this?” Rimmer asked indignantly.  “How?”   
“Forgive me for being blunt, your Grace, but it wasn’t exactly hard to miss.  The intensity of your relationship is painfully transparent to everyone around you.  For all the rather tiresome squabbling, you clearly have a deep and powerful bond that some might say borders on co-dependency.”   
“What a cheek!” Rimmer protested.  “You’ve only known us five minutes, and you think you’ve got us all figured out?”   
“To be fair, Rimsy, he pretty much does,” Lister said mildly.   
“No he doesn’t!  We’ve barely got ourselves figured out!  We’ve only had sex twice!”   
“Ah.  I did assume your relationship was more advanced than that,” Flaubèrt admitted.  “I was under the impression this was an ‘on again, off again’ thing that had been happening for the last three million years or so.”   
“Are you serious?  I only had the nerve to kiss him a few months ago!  And that was practically an accident! It only went further because he...”   
“Rimmer, stop telling the Prime Minister all the intimate details of our relationship,” Lister said, annoyed.  “I still have to work with the guy.”   
  
Flaubèrt held up his hands to placate him.  “No details are necessary. If this is what you want then you have my full support.”   
“But isn’t this going to be kind of a problem?” Lister asked, surprised.   
“How so, your Majesty?”   
“Well, you were pushing me for a royal wedding.”   
“Yes.”   
“And kids.”   
“Quite so.”   
“But we aren’t...” Lister gestured awkwardly.   
“If you aren’t ready to make that kind of commitment yet, I understand.”   
“No, I mean...the logistics...”   
“Can be managed easily enough with a little forward planning.”   
“I’m not sure you’re following me here, man.  Aren’t parliament going to be pissed that we can’t...ensure the succession?”   
“Why not?”   
“Because of basic biology, you mookle,” Rimmer spat irritably.   
“Forgive me, your Grace, but I fail to see the problem.”   
“Let me spell this out for you in the simplest terms possible.  His Majesty is a he. I am a he. I am also an extremely _ex_ he. How are we supposed to have a child?”   
“Look, I told you it doesn’t matter,” Lister said desperately.  “We’ll adopt if we have to. It’s not a big deal.”   
“That’s not necessary, your Majesty.”   
  
Lister and Rimmer stared at him blankly.  Flaubèrt smiled apologetically, “Of course.  I am forgetting that the two of you hail from a far more primitive time.  We have the means for you to create a child of your own, if you so wish.”   
“Like cloning?” Lister asked, intrigued.   
“In the same vein.  Obviously, as the king, it is primarily your genes we would be interested in but, with access to the Duke’s old medical records, some aspects of his DNA could be synthesised and included in the mix.”   
“Are you telling me that this whole baby thing was never an issue?” Rimmer bleated.  “We could have been together this entire time?”   
“Um, yes.  I suppose so.”   
“You smeghead!” Lister let go of Rimmer’s hand to jab him in the ribs.  “If you’d just listened to me instead of freaking out and doing a runner, this mess could have been sorted out in a day!  ‘Let’s just see what happens’, I said. ‘Maybe it won’t be a big deal’, I said. But no, you insisted that all was doom and gloom and misery.  God, I could wring your neck!”   
“How was I supposed to know?!”  Rimmer turned on Flaubèrt. “And if you knew there was something going on between us, why didn’t you say something?”   
“It’s hardly my place to comment on the king’s private life, your Grace.  Although I did try to subtly point you in the right direction.”   
“When?”   
“I did mention at the ball that perhaps a suitable partner was present.  And I did try to tactfully enquire as to the nature of your relationship when things seemed more - how shall I put it? - _volatile_ than usual.”   
“You’ve been a diplomat for far too long, mate,” Lister told him, amused.  “That level of subtlety is lost on me. You’ve gotta spell it out.”   
“I’ll bear that in mind in future, your Majesty.”   
  
“So, this is all...okay?” Lister confirmed gingerly, still barely able to believe it.   
“Absolutely.  It may not be traditional, but that seems in keeping with your reign so far.  I think it’s become apparent that tradition is not really your style.” He raised an eyebrow, “Either way, given recent events I know better than to try arguing with you, and so do parliament.  It’s become abundantly clear that trying to stop you from doing anything you’ve set your mind to is probably a lost cause. Barring some fairly extreme circumstances, it seems less trouble to let you do your own thing and try to just...go with the flow.”   
“In other words, you’re such a stubborn crafty git that they’ve given up trying to exercise any kind of control over you.  You _broke_ parliament.”   
“Brutal.”   
“That’s not a good thing!  It’s disgraceful.”   
“If it means we can actually get smegging married and have a real life together then I’m all for it.”   
“So, should I begin making the arrangements, your Majesty?”   
  
“Uh,” Lister paused suddenly as the magnitude of what was happening crashed on him like an anvil, “...yes?”  He looked nervously at Rimmer who crossed his arms, annoyed.   
“Is that your idea of a proposal?”   
“Technically I don’t _have_ to propose.  Royal prerogative,” Lister reminded him with an impish grin.   
“It would be _nice_.  Besides, what happened to taking it slow?”   
“Rimmer, we’ve known each other for over three million years.  This has already been the slowest courtship in history.”   
“Still...”   
“I’m tired of waiting for this to happen.  What can we possibly learn about each other by taking it slow that we don’t already know?  We’ve lived together, worked together, slept together. If we still want this after all of that, then what else could possibly change our minds?”   
“I don’t know.  Lots of things.”   
“Like what?   _Name_ a thing.”   
“I can’t just name a thing just like that.  It’ll be a thing that we don’t see coming. Something we won’t have thought of.”   
“I refuse to believe that there is any scenario, no matter how dire, grotesque or unlikely that you haven’t thought of at least once.  We’ll be fine. Come on, for once there is nothing - absolutely nothing - standing in our way. Let’s just do it. What d’you say...” Lister took Rimmer’s hand and raised a flirtatious eyebrow, “...Duke?”

Rimmer was silent for a full ten seconds more, very obviously still debating all the worst possible outcomes of this course of action, before saying.  “Smeg it all. Yes. Fine. Let’s get married.”   
Lister whooped and leapt on him, then after a few minutes which he would later feel slightly embarrassed about the Prime Minister witnessing, he composed himself slightly, straightened his crown and cleared his throat.   
“Sir Henry, summon my knights to the round table.  We have a wedding to plan.”   
  
_Eighteen_ _months_ _later_...   
  
“Oh heck.  He’s starting to get fractious.  We’d better make this quick.”   
“Here.  Give him to me.” Lister took the baby and nestled him on his lap.  “Gianni, no offence but you’d better work fast.”   
“Don’t worry, your Majesty, I have a whole box of toys here.  My assistant will keep the young prince entertained for a few moments.”   
“I knew we should have scheduled this for after his nap.”   
“I told you, I have a meeting this afternoon.”   
“Well, you should have rearranged it.”   
“Excuse me?  Who is the king?”   
“You’re _only_ the king.  I’m a knight, a duke, _and_ a prince. ”   
“Prince _Consort_ ,” Lister reminded him, “And I still outrank you, no matter how many titles you now have.  Remember who gave them to you?  It was me. The king.”   
“Yes, yes, yes.  Let’s just get on with it.”   
Gianni Nduba looked up from behind the camera tripod.  “That looks wonderful. Now your Highness, if you could just place your hand on his Majesty’s shoulder, just like in the portrait.  Perfect.”   
  
Lister looked wistfully over his shoulder at the painting hanging above them.  He was dressed in a red silk shirt to mirror Brisäis’ dress, and Rimmer in deep blue as a nod to Roderick.  He was wearing the golden crown, Rimmer his silver laurel wreath circlet. “Just to warn you,” he told Rimmer pleasantly, “if you say our son looks like a potato in this photograph I’m gonna wallop you.”   
“Fine.  I won’t say it.”   
“Ooh, you’re a jerk.” He nuzzled the top of the baby’s head.  “Don’t listen to him. You’re a very handsome little potato. And we’re going to take a lovely picture with granny and grandad, aren’t we?  And you’re not going to have a tantrum until it’s done, because you’re a good boy. Yes, you are.”   
“There’s no point telling him he can’t have a tantrum.  He can’t understand you.”   
“That part was directed at you, dear.”   
“Okay, smile everyone!” Gianni called, and the royal family of Arkeon posed for the first official portrait of the new dynasty.     
  
Once the brief shoot was over, he gave them a quick look at the snaps.  “Very nice,” Lister approved.   
“He’s obviously much more picturesque than you were,” Rimmer commented.  “He hardly looks like a potato at all.”   
“Smeghead.”   
“I know you haven’t officially announced the name yet,” Gianni said coyly, “but I wondered if you’d had any thoughts on the matter?  Off the record, of course. Have you made a decision?”   
“Yes,” Lister smiled.  “We have.”   
“Can I ask?”   
  
Lister looked at Rimmer, who shrugged.  It would be announced when the pictures went out anyway.  “I suppose so.”   
“So, what have you named his Highness?”   
Lister and Rimmer shared a smile.  “Julius,” they said together.   
“Julius Roderick Alexander of Arkeon,” Lister clarified proudly.   
“Very nice.  Very fitting.”   
“We thought so.”     
  
The grandfather clock in the hall started to chime the hour and Lister handed Prince Julius to his husband.  “I gotta go, guys. Nation to run, you know how it is.”   
“You don’t run squat, you goit,” Rimmer told him, amused.  “You’re decorative rather than functional.”   
“But very decorative, you must admit,” Lister preened playfully.  “Besides, hands don’t shake themselves.”   
“Go.  You’re going to be late.”   
“I’ll be done by teatime.  I love you,” he kissed Rimmer’s cheek, “and I love you,” he kissed the baby’s forehead.   
  
Rimmer watched him go with a sigh.  Nduba came and stood beside him. “His Majesty is so hard-working and dedicated.  He will be a fine role model for the young prince.”   
“Yes,” Rimmer agreed, then lowered his voice to whisper to his son, “but don’t tell him I said that.”   
“The pictures will go out tomorrow.  The people will absolutely love them.”   
“Very good.  Thank you, Mr Nduba.”   
“Thank _you_ , your Highness.  It’s been an honour, as always.  Long live the house of Arkeon.”   
  
Rimmer started to head back to the royal chambers, carrying Julius.  “People keep saying that, but it doesn’t really apply to me, does it?” he complained to the oblivious baby.  “I’m already dead. But I suppose so long as it holds for you and your daddy, it’s still a nice sentiment.”   He popped Julius into his ornate gilded crib and placed a blanket over him.     
  
“Long live the Arkeonian legacy,” he whispered, before slipping out and leaving the future king to his nap.


End file.
